


(I'm the New Cancer) Never Looked Better, You Can't Stand It

by connerluthorkent



Series: The Summer of Smut [18]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Choking, Dirty Talk, Ed is so horny in this someone please help him, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Post-Episode: s05e11 They Did What?, References to Shakespeare, Sexual Inexperience, Smoking, Suit Kink, Suit Porn, Teasing, ignores finale, only a smidge though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:13:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26993476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/connerluthorkent/pseuds/connerluthorkent
Summary: Every(body)’s crazy ‘bout a sharp dressed man.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Series: The Summer of Smut [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1787152
Comments: 41
Kudos: 120





	(I'm the New Cancer) Never Looked Better, You Can't Stand It

**Author's Note:**

> *rollerblades in three months late with Starbucks* So, uh, here’s my Summer of Smut fic. In October. Arriving very late to the party, fully in time for Spooky of Smut season. But! I come bearing a long word count, so surely that counts for something?
> 
> Eternal thanks to [Orcaputt](https://orcaputt.tumblr.com), who went along on this rollercoaster ride with me as cheerleader, beta, and constant support! Their help was invaluable every step of the way. They also made the beautiful cover art pictured at the start of this fic, because they are a gift. 
> 
> Title taken from Panic! At The Disco’s “There’s A Good Reason These Tables Are Numbered Honey, You Just Haven’t Thought of It Yet.”
> 
> My prompt for this challenge was “suit kink.”

It’s all in the small things. 

The look of concentration on Oswald’s face as he applies eyeliner in the mornings, careful of his injuries, that heavy outline of kohl traced with a deft hand to make his icy eyes pop. The swift movement of his fingers as he adjusts his cufflinks, glittering and emerald, with a careful, practiced touch. The way his jacket cuts across his chest, highlighting his sharp angles, his indigo tie drawing attention to the long, pale line of his throat. The gentle brush of his palm against Ed’s wrist, tentative, almost shy when he reaches out to get Ed’s attention, that simple contact making something warm and heavy pool at the base of Ed’s spine. 

It’s been building, building and building, all towards some cacophonic crescendo for months now. 

Ed is going slowly _mad_ with it.

With the way his body pulses, skin hot, cock straining hard against his briefs, with every tilt of Oswald’s head, flutter of his eyelashes, sweep of his coat. 

Arousal permeates every cell of Ed’s body, every molecule. Each minute brush of Oswald’s hand and loaded, heavy-lidded look feels searing. He's lit up with it in a way he can't ever remember being before.

The incident with Penn had been the catalyst. 

Oswald had looked up at him with those too light green eyes and declared that maybe they were meant for each other, after all, and it was like the floodgates in Ed’s chest cavity opened and some long suppressed part of himself that would not lie dormant any more came tumbling out. Like a light switch had been flicked, and the green light for _go go go_ was now always pulsing, faintly, in the background.

The emotions came pouring in first. The easy intimacy and playful camaraderie of their early friendship not quite restored, but close, a shadow memory growing more and more concrete with each passing day. And something warmer, deeper, stronger beating faintly at the center of his ribcage, feelings he had been too stubborn and naïve and far too deep in denial to parse the first time around, all surging back to the surface. 

The months had unfolded rapidly, building the submarine and fighting off resurrected supersoldiers and generally trying to fend for their _lives_ in the midst of No Man’s Land. But, still, in his fleeting spare moments, Ed had found himself in the long overdue process of attempting to confront what he'd long kept buried, shoving battered copies of _Maurice_ and Wilde's poetry under chair cushions any time Oswald walked into the room.

Emotional tailspin notwithstanding, it was the physical sensations that quickly became incessant. Bodily reactions and responses not at all unfamiliar but no longer content to be repressed and controlled, denied. Ignored. Not anymore.

He is, in a word, boiling over with lust for his former best friend-turned-nemesis-turned whatever the hell it is they are to each other now. An extremely inconvenient lust thrumming alongside the confused tangle of his own emotions, taut and refusing to be unspooled.

When the dust settles, the battle won and the long months of isolation finally behind them, Ed finds himself remaining steady at Oswald’s side in the post-not-quite-apocalyptic Gotham, their rock solid alliance now forged in blades lowered, a deadly embrace turned sincere. 

The new world order has required a surprising return to form for the two of them, at least partially. 

The burnout from their year cut-off from the rest of the world had left a vacuum in power, wealth, and order, a vacancy Oswald was only too eager to fill. As venues began to reopen, riches reflow, and the wealthy returned to their old posts, numerous opportunities for restaking a claim in the city arose. Their tendrils, though shaky, were still firmly rooted in the underworld, but the pair turned to other, more “legitimate” potential arenas for creating mutually beneficial alliances. 

Oswald had set his sights on reopening the Iceberg Lounge as a cover for the more nefarious side of his dealings, and subsequently began cultivating his image as a semi-legitimate businessman to go along with it. The entire endeavor required one thing.

Schmoozing.

Neither of them had ever been particularly fond of rubbing elbows with Gotham’s elite, even back when it had literally come with the territory of their chosen career paths. Wealthy socialites were, after all, typically a painfully dull lot, too self-involved and shallow to offer any intriguing opportunities for conversation. 

But just because the partners-in-crime didn’t enjoy it didn’t mean they weren’t _skilled_ at it. Oswald in particular slipped in to socializing like sliding on a well-worn glove, offering pleasant smiles and light conversation even as he caught Ed’s gaze over the heads of his companions, rolling his eyes pointedly as Ed smirked into his champagne glass. It was those shared, secret looks and private jokes alone that propelled Ed through long evenings of tedious pleasantries and droning small-talk.

Ed had imagined he'd left this portion of his life behind when he'd stepped down from his position as interim mayor in a somewhat... _colorful_ fashion. But, apparently not.

Though Ed had somewhat... _exaggerated_ his own interest in ruling over the city with an iron fist the evening of the battle, the kind of alliances Oswald was looking to forge now would benefit his own ultimate goals in the long-run, financially and otherwise. 

His other primary motivation—a vested interest in supporting Oswald’s affairs—remained omnipresent, but unspoken. 

Which is how he had found himself at Oswald’s elbow on the night of the historic Monarch Theatre’s reopening, chit-chatting while they waited for the doors to swing open and let them back into that evening’s staging of _Much Ado About Nothing_. Picking a comedy, Ed supposed, had been a strategic choice to bring a faux cheerful sheen to the gradual resumption of “normalcy” in their war ravaged city.

Making his way from the bar, Ed cuts through the sea of bodies gathering round with the precision of a knife, searching the crowd for that familiar coiffed black plumage. His eyes locate his target quickly, Oswald always one to stand out from the crowd, the swoop of his stylized hair giving him that extra-needed height to rise above the rest. 

The occasion had called for formal wear. For Oswald, that meant full tuxedo, complete with tails and spats, monochromatic like the arctic fowl from which he drew his moniker. Ed’s eyes rove over his suit as he heads in Oswald’s direction, eyes locked on target. Despite being old fashioned, the well-tailored garment hugs him in all the right places. 

But, then again, they always do. 

He looks every bit the gentleman dandy of a bygone era. All he’s missing is the top hat. 

Ed makes a mental note to try persuading him to add that final touch to his wardrobe. Merely to complete the look, of course. Any previous instances he might have mentally conjured an image of Oswald in just such an accessory he intends to refrain from mentioning, of course.

Oswald’s even sporting a glass monocle, courtesy of his recovering eye.

Ed vividly remembers him trying on the eyeglass for the first time, his hands fluttering nervously as he considered his reflection in the mirror. His anxiety had been palpable, the way it always was in regard to the alterations his injury had made to his appearance.

"It doesn't look...silly, does it?" he’d asked, fiddling with the edge of the lens.

Ed had swallowed, snapping his jaw shut and screwing his eyes closed for just a moment, trying to regain his composure from where he had been staring openly at Oswald’s face.

“You look,” he’d said, clearing his throat when his voice catches, unexpectedly dropping an octave before he regains control, “...regal.”

The relieved smile Oswald had shot him made something loosen in his chest.

Ed is similarly adorned in black tie attire for the evening. Although, technically, it's _green_ tie for him, as he had refused not to incorporate his signature color into his accessories, from his tie to the flash of satin in his breast pocket. Oswald had indulged him by lending him his matching emerald cufflinks. 

Ed finds his fingers gravitating to them throughout the evening, tracing over the smooth, square-cut jewels again and again with the pad of his thumb.

As he approaches, Ed sees that Oswald is making animated small talk with Marion Grange, one of the city council’s freshly elected members. Rumor has it Grange has past ties to the now defunct Thorne crime family. 

But that’s mere hearsay, of course. 

Sliding wordlessly into place at Oswald’s side, Ed hands him his champagne glass in one seamless, fluid motion before taking a sip of his own. He settles one hand casually in the center of Oswald’s back, just between his shoulder blades. Oswald doesn’t so much as miss a beat at the sudden, overly familiar contact.

Grange’s lips quirk up at the corners, an expression of private amusement curling over her face. 

“Well, don’t you two operate like a well-oiled machine.” 

"We ought to," Ed says, easily, giving her a practiced smile he knows is still forced around the edges, "I _am_ his former chief of staff, after all."

Even in the short time he’s been standing there, Ed’s hand has slid, lower and lower, over the smooth line of Oswald’s suit jacket, slipping down until it settles in the small of his back. Again, Oswald remains unmoved by the gesture, not a single twitch or tick in his facial expression in response to Ed’s slowly creeping hand.

It’s a game Ed has taken to playing, as of late. Though, whether he’s playing it with Oswald or himself, he isn’t entirely sure. 

Grange pauses, eyes narrowing as her gaze runs him over from top to toe and back again, a pointed once over. 

“That’s funny,” she says, “I could have sworn I recognized you, but I couldn’t place from where.”

“I’d imagine it was from those days,” Ed answers easily, shooting Oswald a fond, indulgent smile, “we were in all the papers at the time.”

She doesn’t look convinced, however.

“Wait just a moment!” she exclaims, waving one manicured nail in his face. “Aren’t you the Ridd—?”

“Eddie,” Oswald says urgently, squeezing down on the inside of Ed’s elbow hard, “care to join me outside for a quick smoke?”

“Of course,” Ed answers with a smile, eyes still locked on Grange’s as he offers Oswald his arm. 

The pair turn abruptly away, cutting her off mid-conversation as they make their way to the large double-doors and out into the cool Gotham night.

Once they’re safely on the front steps, Oswald reaches inside his jacket’s inner pocket and produces a packet of Kool menthols, tapping on the side of the box as he retrieves one. During the many years of their acquaintance, Ed had never known Oswald to be much of a smoker, not until very recently. An old habit, Oswald had said when questioned, renewed by the stresses of the past year and a half. One he indulged all the more frequently post-reunification, now that cigarettes were once again readily on hand. 

Ed produces the lighter he’s taken to carrying from his pocket and flicks it open with a resounding click, shoulder lightly brushing against Oswald’s chest as he reaches across to give him a light.

The ember glows bright against the dark Gotham streets. Ed pockets the lighter and then leans against the railing wrapped around the building, stretching his back like a pent-up house cat. 

“Are you enjoying the play?” he asks.

He props up his head on one fist as he looks up at Oswald, watching him take a long drag before blowing rings of smoke into the frosty night air. A small smile creeps onto his face. He fears, in that moment, he may look rather transparently smitten, and attempts to school his expression into something more carefully neutral, curious. 

“In all honesty?” Oswald’s eyebrows tilt slightly upward, his pale eyes locking with Ed’s. “Far more than I anticipated. It’s been years since I’ve seen it, so my memories were hazy at best.”

“Fan of a good love story, I take it?”

The corners of Oswald’s lips tug downward ever so slightly, something wistful, almost misty, clinging around the edges of his mouth.

“One does occasionally enjoy indulging in a happy ending,” he admits, twirling the cigarette between his fingers as he looks off into the middle distance, “even if it is nothing more than mere fantasy.”

Ed hums at the sentiment, noncommittal.

“You know,” he offers offhand, tilting his head slightly as he straightens, “in some productions, it’s insinuated Beatrice and Benedick were lovers prior to the play.”

Oswald turns back to him, looking pensive. 

“What happened between them, I wonder?” he muses. “Obviously, the witty banter is part of the play’s charm, but they’re so hostile to one another at the beginning.”

Ed lifts one shoulder, a half-shrug. 

“Who’s to say? Love soured at some point. Hell hath no fury, and all of that. Still,” he hears a yearning edge creeping into his own voice, “that’s the beauty of adding the connotation, isn’t it? Everyone gets a second chance.” 

Sadness settles over Oswald’s half-smile. 

“I suppose that’s what makes it a fairy tale.” 

Ed catches his gaze, and his chest _aches_ at the slight sheen that’s come over Oswald’s eyes, his recent heterochromia all the more pronounced for it, stormy blue and pale green shimmering brightly under the streetlights. 

Oswald looks away from him then, taking another puff off the end of his cigarette. A ripple shudders through his shoulders, and he hunches slightly as he shivers against the chill. 

In lieu of a coat to offer, Ed wraps an arm around him without thinking, pressing their bodies together, warm and close. The heat radiating off Oswald makes Ed flush, top to toe.

Oswald turns his face towards Ed’s. His long, aquiline nose skims over Ed’s jawline, his breath hot and heavy against his neck. 

"You're standing awfully close," he murmurs into Ed's ear.

The words hurtle Ed backwards, to a different time and place. Ed, bright-eyed and over-eager as the humdrum mundanity of the GCPD clicked and clacked all around them. Oswald, reciting those exact same words with a hostility he likely ought to have now, but doesnt. 

Their first meeting. It flashes through Ed’s mind in vivid, technicolor detail.

"’Too close’?" he murmurs back, an echo of those works spoken so long ago. "Would you like me to ' _keep moving_ '?" 

“You know," Ed catches Oswald’s mouth turning up at the corners, a glimpse of his wry smile, “I don't think that I would."

At that, they lapse into a companionable silence, Ed’s arm still tight around Oswald’s shoulders as he smokes. A rare moment’s pause, the pair taking the time, for once, to slow down and enjoy the glittering, relatively quiet Gotham streets all around them. 

“‘I do love nothing in the world so well as you,’” Ed quotes on impulse, the words washing over him so suddenly he feels compelled to break the silence, “‘is not that strange?’”

He feels it, Oswald stiffening in his arms the moment the quotation leaves his lips. He risks a peek at Oswald’s face, noting that his good eye has widened, the line of his mouth tightening at the corners.

“From the play,” he clarifies when Oswald angles his body towards him, uncertainty clinging to his features.

“Oh,” Oswald says, a disappointed lilt slipping into his voice on the syllable, “from the play. Of course.”

But as he catches Ed’s gaze and holds it, something in the pale sheen of his eyes seems to shift, going from tentative to challenging, almost smoldering, the air all around them suddenly evaporating.

It should hardly come as a surprise, really. For as much as Ed has been playing the game, with his careful touches and furtive glances, lately, Oswald’s grown bolder, too. He’s been reaching _back_. 

Adjusting Ed’s cufflinks. Straightening his tie. Tracing a thumb over the back of Ed’s hand, or reaching up and undoing the top button of Ed’s collar, the one closest to this throat, because it had, “looked a bit tight.”

It hadn’t. Ed knows it _hadn’t_. 

The same sort of fleeting touches and loaded looks Ed has been throwing Oswald’s way, he’s been throwing right back.

So Ed should be expecting it when Oswald breathes out his name, rough and surprisingly throaty, his voice catching in the middle.

“Ed.”

Then he slides his hand inside the flap of Ed’s suit jacket, close to his belly, _ostensibly_ to warm his hand. 

Just because he should have anticipated it, doesn’t mean Ed doesn’t start slightly at the sudden contact, his pulse beginning to jack rabbit in his veins. 

There’s something hesitant but determined, almost defiant, in the set of Oswald’s jaw as he continues to stare up at Ed. But the uncertainty slowly starts to melt away, a trace of mischievousness sparkling in Oswald’s face as he continues to look Ed dead in the eye, one corner of his mouth lifting in a challenging half-smirk.

Something pools, warm and simmering, in Ed’s stomach where Oswald’s hand rests against his waistcoat. 

And then, that warmth dips _lower_. 

More than the teasing glitter, there’s a question in Oswald’s eyes. One Ed’s unsure he’s ready to answer, when something as small as a simple touch from Oswald has him straining against his trousers.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he says, too quick, his words tripping over one another, “I need to make a pit stop before intermission ends. I’ll meet you back at our seats!”

Then Ed turns and all but flees back into the theatre lobby, not waiting to catch Oswald’s expression. He makes a beeline into the men’s restroom, pushing in the first stall door he comes to with a hard thrust of his hand. 

He waits until the bathroom has emptied, the last stragglers filing back into the theatre, before he unzips his fly and shoves a hand roughly down the front of his briefs. 

Flashes of Oswald burst on the back of his eyelids as he grips himself firmly, flicking his wrist in an easy, long-practiced rhythm. 

The curve of Oswald’s lips, shaped in a perfect ‘O,’ around the end of his cigarette. 

The dark swoop of his hair. His inky black eyelashes. 

The small glimpses of pale, milky white skin at his wrist, his neck, his ankles and his calves as he’s getting dressed in the mornings, wrapping the black strap of his garters tightly around his knees. The way his vest hugs his slender waistline, nipping in at the corners, and his fitted pants taper down perfectly to show off the delicate slope of his legs. 

He imagines Oswald on his knees, pale eyes blinking up at him, wide and wanting as his lips wrap around Ed. Imagines the positions reversed, kneeled down at Oswald’s feet, Oswald hot and heavy on his tongue, and shudders even harder. 

He recalls the press of Oswald’s body, warm and oh-so-close, mere moments ago on the theatre steps. Pictures that heat and those sharp angles pressed up against him, the layers of clothing between them finally shed as they tip back into silky sheets. 

The visual is so real, so striking, so vivid, a choked moan bubbles out of his chest as it envelops him, and he has to bite down hard on his clenched fist to try and muffle the sound. 

It only intensifies when he hears the sound of Oswald’s voice calling his name in his head, breathless and ragged and reverent, as he has countless times before, in a thousand different scenarios.

_Ed! Riddler! Edward, Edward, Edward!_

It’s an embarrassingly low number of quick, shaky jerks before Ed is stroking himself to completion, coming into his hand with a ragged, cut off cry. 

He grabs a handful of toilet tissue and makes quick work of the clean up, tucking himself back into his pants. Then, he forces himself to take a few unsteady, labored breaths, trying to get his pulse to slow, the flush on his skin to dissipate, his breathing to even out again.

Ed checks his reflection once, twice, three times in the elegantly adorned wall mirror to make sure he doesn’t look dishevelled, not a hair out of place, before making haste to their private balcony. He’s quiet as he takes his seat beside Oswald, attempting to draw as little attention to himself as possible. 

Oswald glances at him briefly, a sudden disruption of the rapt attention he had been paying the stage just a moment before. 

“What took you so long?” he whispers.

A faint, quizzical line appears between his brows, though the rest of his face remains carefully impassive.

“Oh, you know,” Ed laughs lightly, and even he can hear how strained it sounds, “I was just...momentarily diverted.”

Oswald lets out a noncommittal hum as he turns his attention back to the play, but the line stays firmly in place, slashing down the center of his forehead. 

  


Putting together the Penguin is a multi-step, many layer process. And clothing, as Ed well knows from both observation and experience, is an essential part of getting into persona.

Ed has a mental catalogue of Oswald's suits running in his head. The double-breasted charcoal with paisley waistcoat had been Wednesday. The black with subtle purple pinstripes Thursday.

And now it’s Friday night, and they have yet _another_ soirée to attend, though this time of a much less above-the-board variety. Barbara is hosting a gala at the Sirens Club, a “congratulations on surviving the apocalypse!” style bash. The gathering will be an inevitable _magnet_ for the criminal underworld, and, accordingly, a whole slew of other contacts that require Ed and Oswald to play a very different part for the evening. 

Oswald is every bit dressed for the occasion. Ed’s eyes rove over his silk plum suit, shimmering in the low light of the bedroom. His gaze climbs from where Oswald’s waistcoat clings to the curve of his stomach up to the black and gold brocade tie hugged snuggly against the pale skin of his throat. The black lapels of the jacket look so smooth, they make Ed’s fingers twitch, the urge to reach out and touch them overwhelming. 

He’d watched, enraptured, as Oswald carefully applied a dark purple shadow, blending it with his fingers before taking his brush and cutting a sharp, black wing that made his pale eyes pop. More peacock than penguin, tonight. 

He looks...positively delectable, if Ed is being perfectly honest with himself. And he is trying to, as of late. 

After several years worth of heavy denial, he’s finally come to terms with the cold, hard facts. And the fact of the matter is...there's something deeply alluring about a man in a well-tailored suit.

Moreover, it’s a treat to see Oswald in something other than the all black ensembles No Man's Land had confined him too, bespoke though they may have been. 

Ed always had been partial to Oswald in purple.

He recalls the delighted light in Oswald’s eyes when he had managed to track down a tailor post-reunification to add a few custom pieces, this suit included, to their severely dwindled wardrobes. Oswald had practically glowed during the fitting, the elated gratitude on his face when he looked at Ed making something unspool, warm and pleased, in his stomach.

Ed himself is already fully dressed in his signature satin green suit, legs crossed at the knee as he lounges in the boudoir chair in Oswald’s bedroom. They chat about their strategy for the evening as he tracks Oswald, hawk-eyed, going through the motions of his all-too-familiar routine. 

It’s dizzyingly reminiscent of the days during Oswald’s mayorship, when Ed would assist him in getting dressed while meticulously going over his schedule for the day. At the time, Ed had thought nothing of it, considering the routine an extension of his duties as Chief of Staff. 

Time, distance, and perspective have allowed him to recognize it had been rather...odd, in hindsight. Intimate in a way Ed had only picked up on after the fact, much like he’d dismissed the longing that came over him every time he looked at Oswald’s bespoke suits and glittering cufflinks, chalking it up to eny. A desire, he thought, to carry himself with the same dignity and refinement as Mr. Peng—Oswald did, and nothing more. 

And if the image of Oswald in jewel-toned ties and well-cut suits had cropped up occasionally, late at night, when Ed was panting and gasping under the bedsheets, his hand wrapped around his cock—well. That had been nobody’s business but his own. 

Oswald scoffs, breaking Ed out of his reverie.

“I hope Barbara had the foresight not to invite any members of the _circus_ tonight,” he sneers, words dripping with disdain. 

Ed leans forward eagerly, propping his chin in one hand. 

“Who were you thinking of?” he asks, bubbling over with curiosity. “Our favorite little alleycat?”

“Oh, no, Selina’s fine, when she’s not holding a knife to my jugular. Barbara’s had her properly house trained, after all.” 

Ed watches Oswald’s reflection as he simpers at his own pun. 

“As is Ivy,” he adds, a pensiveness in his expression, “though no one seems to have seen or heard from her as of late.”

The melancholy that colors the words gives Ed pause, but Oswald’s face quickly clears as he continues.

“No,” he says, waving a hand airly in Ed’s direction, “I meant the _others_. Tetch, Crane, Pike. I doubt Fries will be there. It’s hardly his scene.” 

“I’m not sure they’ll have the proper attire for the occasion, anyway,” Ed observes with a dismissive little shrug of his shoulders, “a burlap sack over your head hardly qualifies as high couture.” 

Oswald’s eyes meet his in the mirror, sharing his smirk. 

“Has-beens, the lot of them,” Oswald says haughtily as he tugs his jacket firmly into place. “No, they’ll never cut it as gang lords in the new Gotham, now that some semblance of order has been restored to our fair streets. And once they topple like dominoes, their territory will be ours for the taking.”

“Imagine,” Ed drawls, rolling the word on his tongue, “trying to take over this city when your arsenal is full of nothing but nursery rhymes.” 

Their eyes meet again, and this time they burst into uproarious laughter.

Ed’s smile lingers as he watches Oswald turn on his heels towards the dresser, still chuckling lightly as he goes to fetch cufflinks in his sock feet. 

As Oswald crosses the room, Ed finds his eyes dropping down to linger on his backside, admiring how his exquisitely tailored pants cling to the curve of it, leaving little to the imagination. 

Once he reaches the bureau, Oswald bends slightly at the waist, considering the selection of cufflinks spread out over the top of it. As he does, the vent in the back of his jacket gapes slightly, offering an additional glimpse of his behind. 

Ed finds himself suddenly extraordinarily grateful Oswald has always favored single-vent suits, leaning forward as his head cocks slightly in consideration. It looks firm, he thinks, imaging how it might feel beneath his palm, if, some errant time he placed his hand in the small of Oswald’s back, he were to slide it lower, down down down to cup one of those pert cheeks. 

He wonders, momentarily, what it must look like under those pants. Images of creamy white skin flash, unbidden, in his mind, as he envisions how silky smooth the curve of Oswald’s cheek might feel under his lips. 

Some latent impulse buried deep down has him picture spreading those cheeks with his hands, pressing his face between them to taste.

Ed’s body flushes all over, blood rushing anywhere but his head. He tugs at his collar, loosening it, then sticks his gloved fingers behind the lenses of his glasses and presses down hard onto his eyelids, trying, in vain, to clear his thoughts. The conjured image clings without permission at the corners of his mind. 

“...Ed?”

“What?” he snaps too quickly at the sound of Oswald’s voice, sitting bolt upright as he pulls his fingers from his eyes. 

Ed blinks at him, once, trying to recover his faculties. 

“What are you doing?” Oswald asks, staring down at him with an expression that borders on amusement.

Ed feels his face heat slightly.

“Oh, just a...headache,” he improvises, gesturing with one finger to his temple.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Oswald says, concern instantly clouding his expression, “Would you like me to get you anything? Water? Some pain killers, perhaps?”

“No, no, I’ll be fine,” Ed says quickly, waving him off. “Thank you.”

Oswald nods, his expression still pinched slightly with worry.

“You were saying something?” Ed prompts, flourishing his hand for Oswald to continue.

“Oh, yes!” Oswald replies, recovering himself. “I was just asking which you think would be more suitable.”

He holds up a set of cufflinks in each hand. In the right, a shiny, solid black pair. The left, gold with a Tahitian pearl set at the center of each glittering face. 

Ed runs his eyes over each quickly, a thorough but swift assessment. 

"The pearls," he says with barely a moment’s hesitation.

Oswald frowns down at his left palm.

“You don’t think they’re too garish,” he asks, a slight lilt of surprising uncertainty in his voice.

“I believe that’s the point, don’t you?” Ed asks, grinning broadly. “Suitably decadent for the occasion, to make sure you stand out from the crowd. After all, you wouldn’t want Barbara to upstage you."

Oswald pauses, considering, Then he offers Ed a small, conspiratorial smile in return.

“Well, no, we couldn’t have that, could we?”

“Certainly not,” Ed reasserts, still smiling. 

As Oswald reapproaches the mirror and begins carefully attaching the cufflinks to his sleeve, Ed stands up swiftly, crossing the room in a few quick, long strides. He delicately takes Oswald’s left wrist in his hand, Oswald faltering slightly as he plucks a cufflink from his palm. He watches, lips parted slightly as Ed pinches the fabric of his button-down together and fastens the pearl into place with quick, nimble fingers. 

“There you are,” Ed says, releasing Oswald’s arm with a pleased quirk of his lips. 

Oswald glances down at his sleeve, examining Ed’s handiwork as he runs one finger over the glimmering black pearl.

“Yes, well,” he clears his throat delicately as he looks up into Ed’s eyes, “thank you, Ed.”

“Of course,” Ed says automatically.

And then he reaches for Oswald’s shoulders, gently turning him around to face the mirror fully. 

Their shoulders brush as they both consider their reflection, the pair of them side-by-side in the mirror’s shiny surface, dressed to the nines in all their rich, iridescent glory. 

Ed leans into Oswald’s space, his chin hovering just above his shoulder, so that, when he speaks, it’s directly into Oswald’s ear. 

“We look quite dapper,” he observes, low and close, “if I do say so myself.”

Oswald tilts his head, considering, then turns to give Ed a soft, pleased smile.

“We do make a handsome pair,” he says, a hopeful edge to his words, “don’t we?”

Ed returns his smile with a bright flash of gleaming teeth.

“That we do.”

Ed’s eyes run over Oswald one last time, doing a mental catalogue in his head. His tie looks just slightly off-center, Ed notes, a common concern since Oswald’s injury had impaired the vision in his right eye slightly. 

Ed steps in front of him, blocking off his view of the mirror as he reaches for the golden fabric.

"'A well-tied tie,’” Ed quotes, running his hand down the silky smooth line of the material as he straightens it into place, “‘is the first serious step in life.’”

Oswald’s brows furrow together quizzically. 

"Oscar Wilde," Ed cites in answer, fingers skimming lightly up Oswald’s chest to settle at his neck. 

As he adjusts the tie to fit more snugly, he overestimates and tugs the fabric just a tad too tightly against Oswald’s throat. 

Both men gasp, a single sound, two breaths in tandem.

Their eyes meet, lock, the look between them smoldering enough Ed feels it on his skin. Hot enough to burn down the manor around them.

It should hardly come as a shock, Ed thinks, fingertips lingering at Oswald’s jugular. As with a finely fitted suit, he’s _also_ become self-aware enough to acknowledge the inexplicable eroticism that comes with tying another man’s tie.

Besides...he _did_ always have a weakness for a good neck. 

As Ed watches, attention rapt, Oswald's left pupil dilates, blowing wide to match his injured eye, the dark center blotting out that pale edge of green.

He releases Oswald’s tie with shaking fingers, his gaze dropping to where Oswald’s lips have parted once more, gasping at the sudden loss of contact. 

Then, Ed reaches out, slowly, stroking Oswald’s cheek with the back of his fingers, the soft rasp of leather on skin ringing in the air. Time seems to stand still as he tenderly cups Oswald’s jaw in his hand, Oswald’s eyes fluttering shut as he leans into the touch. 

Oswald’s breath hitches as Ed traces lightly over his lips with a gloved thumb, eyes popping open to stare up at him, mesmerized. Ed finds his chest rising and falling in time with Oswald’s own, mirroring his motions. 

In turn, Oswald reaches out and tentatively skims his fingers over Ed’s own waistcoat, his touch trailing down as though to straighten it. 

“Ed,” he says, breathless, an echo of two nights ago outside the Monarch Theatre. 

Ed is aware, somewhere far down in the recesses of the part of his mind still operating on logic, that they should talk about this. There’s still so much they haven’t talked about.

Then Oswald screws his eyes shut tightly as Ed brushes his fingers delicately over his cheek, his face scrunching in a way that looks almost painful. Vulnerable and desperate, like he's trying to commit the touch to memory, grasping in vain to hold onto a moment he seems certain will vanish into thin air with the blink of an eye. Like a puff of smoke, a broken spell.

Ed is helpless to do anything other than lean down and kiss him hard on the mouth. 

At the first brush of Ed’s lips, Oswald seems to go boneless, sinking against Ed’s chest with a soft, rough whimper. Ed wraps his arms tightly around Oswald’s shoulders, lost in the press of his mouth, the scent of his skin where Ed’s nose brushes his cheek. He pulls Oswald firmly to him, warm and close, enjoying the hard, sharp planes of his body against Ed’s own. A tingling thrill pulses down his spine as Oswald reaches up and cups his cheeks with familiar rough palms, those strong, surprisingly large hands holding Ed’s face in place as Oswald gently nibbles at his lips. 

They kiss for long moments, their lips only parting when they’re both forced to come, panting, back up for air. 

Even then, they don’t go far. Ed has barely pulled back to look at him when Oswald makes a low, guttural sound in the back of his throat, reaching forward to grab Ed’s own tie and wrap it around his fist. This time, he’s the one to yank Ed forward by the taut fabric, crushing their lips together for a repeat performance. 

The second kiss is rougher than the first, more feral and lacking finesse, too much teeth and tongue as they attack each other’s mouths with the same fervor they take on everything in life.

Oswald's arms are nestled between their bodies, his hands fisted in the lapels of Ed's jacket. He reaches beneath Ed’s coat to rub tentatively over the flat planes of his chest, drawing a stuttering gasp from Ed's lips as his fingers brush one peaked nipple. 

In turn, Ed’s hands rove over Oswald’s body, mapping down the line of his vertebrae before finally coming to rest in that familiar spot in the small of his back, petting at the base of his spine. Then, at long last, Ed allows his touch to dip lower, reaching down and squeezing Oswald's ass firmly with both hands, making Oswald moan into his mouth.

Their searching hands grow overeager and desperate, touching each other everywhere. Like they don’t know where to settle. Like they can’t get enough contact, find enough skin. 

Noses bump as they tilt their heads at a better angle, deepening the kiss. Oswald cups Ed's ass almost shyly through his pants, touch growing bolder when Ed responds to his groping with a sharp gasp. 

Meanwhile, Ed fumbles blindly to flick open the top button of Oswald’s suit jacket, sliding his hand inside to rest in the dip of his waist, just above his hip bone. He strokes his thumb along Oswald's rib cage, making Oswald titter against his lips.

"The formidable crime lord Oswald Cobblepot isn't ticklish, is he?" Ed pulls back just far enough to tease, smug as he rubs circles into the precise spot that had made Oswald twitch.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Oswald goads, biting Ed’s bottom lip in retaliation. 

“I plan to find out,” Ed chuckles, low and syrup-warm, at once promise _and_ threat.

Oswald’s only reply is to find the braces of Ed’s suspenders with swift fingers and tug at them, making Ed moan as the taut fabric snaps against his chest. Oswald makes a soft, desperate sound in the back of his throat as Ed tugs him forward and then spins them around, caging Oswald in the circle of his arms as he backs him up against a wall. 

Pinned beneath Ed’s body, Oswald gives as good as he gets, leaning up to nip at Ed’s bottom lip. His mouth is hot against Ed’s, and Ed revels in the press of it, the feel of Oswald’s nose skimming over his skin, the sharpness of his jaw against Ed’s own. He fists his hands into the lapels of Oswald’s jacket, trying desperately to ground himself. 

Close still isn’t close enough. Ed needs to feel, get his palms on Oswald’s skin. He scrambles to pull off his gloves, huffing in frustration as his hands fumble, leather-encased fingers sliding uselessly against one another. 

He finally breaks the kiss, letting out an animalistic snarl of impatience as he takes the tip of one finger between his teeth and yanks the glove from his hand with a quick jerk of his head. Oswald’s head dips down to mouth at his neck, and Ed whines, not even bothering to remove his other glove before he’s reaching for the first bit of bare skin he can find—Oswald’s hand.

The thing about constantly seeing someone in a three-piece suit is...it makes even the slightest glimpse of skin utterly tantalizing. A pale flash of neck. The edge of an ankle. A lined, open palm. 

Ed loosely grasps Oswald’s wrist, lacing their fingers, palms pressing together as he pins Oswald’s hand over his head. 

The first touch of skin against skin feels incredible. Like a spark. 

Oswald moans, then his hips buck helplessly. The press of Oswald’s erection against his is foreign but electric, making Ed’s breath stutter as he keens into Oswald’s mouth. He grinds into Oswald in return, chasing that delicious friction as he trails kisses from Oswald’s cheek to the corner of his mouth and back again. 

“Ed,” Oswald stutters against Ed’s skin, barely more than a whisper, “is this really happening?”

“Yes, I think so,” Ed chuckles, just as low. “Though, admittedly, I’ve imagined it enough times over now, it’s a bit difficult to tell.”

Ed feels Oswald still momentarily in his arms, and his smile widens at the unmistakable shock his confession has elicited. He licks along the seam of Oswald’s lips, teasing, until Oswald yields, lips parting with a contented hum, any reply he might have had lost in Ed’s mouth. 

Several moments pass before Oswald speaks again.

“Do you think,” he pants between kisses, almost too soft to hear, “we should talk about this?”

Ed breaks away then, pulling back just far enough to look at Oswald, his breath coming out in stuttering puffs. Oswald lets out a bitten off moan low in the back of his throat at the sudden loss of contact, his mismatched eyes popping open to peer up at Ed. 

He looks... _mussed_. His normally carefully sculpted hair is disheveled, lips swollen and red from kissing. There’s color high on his cheeks, and his high-end suit is rucked up and rumpled. Ed finds the sight...satisfying, even as he knows he must look much the same. 

As thoroughly debauched as he looks, a hint of insecurity still clouds Oswald’s eyes, a clear hesitancy in the unpleasant twist of his lips.

Ed tugs down there still intertwined fingers, cupping Oswald’s hand in his as he brings it up to his lips.

"Oswald," he says, pressing a reassuring kiss to the center of his palm.

Oswald sucks in a sharp breath as Ed peeks down at him, eyes hooded. 

“We can discuss this. Of course we can,” he assures, stroking a thumb over the back of Oswald’s hand where it still rests in his.

Oswald swallows audibly as he holds Ed’s gaze, lips slightly parted, his Adam’s apple bobbing. 

“Although,” Ed confesses, voice dropping an octave as he draws closer, giving Oswald a knowing smile, “I may spontaneously combust in the meantime.”

Oswald makes a strangled sound, a visible shudder running down his spine at the words. Then his face clears as he shakes himself, recovering enough to shoot Ed a small, impish smile.

“Well,” he offers, eyelashes dipping as his expression turns coy, “perhaps it can wait. For the time being.” 

The words have barely left his lips before he surges forward, eyes smoldering as he pulls Ed into another heated kiss, rough and messy. 

Ed reaches up instinctively and grips him firmly around the shoulders. Then, he begins walking them blindly backwards towards the bed, their lips never parting, shedding his other glove and shoes along the way. It’s a staggering, stumbling dance as he uses his height to gently steer Oswald towards their ultimate destination, navigating the room by memory alone. 

Once they reach the edge of the mattress, Ed gently pushes Oswald into a sitting position. 

Then, he sinks to his knees.

The sound Oswald releases in response can only be properly described as a _squeak_. 

“Ed!” he gasps, urgent and high-pitched, Ed’s name a demand more than anything else in his mouth. “What are you doing?!”

Ed puts his hands on his knees and spreads them, blinking calmly up into Oswald’s flabbergasted expression.

"I'd like to fellate you," he says without preamble, giving both Oswald’s thighs a gentle squeeze, "if you'd be amenable to that."

“ _Fellate_ me?” Oswald repeats, disbelief coloring the words, his lips twitching slightly as one eyebrow climbs towards his hairline. 

Ed rears back slightly at the amused edge in Oswald’s tone, his posture going rigid. 

“Well, not if you’re going to make fun of me,” he replies, clipped, though he sounds far more wounded and sullen than he’d like to.

He makes to get off his knees, hands still braced on Oswald’s legs.

“Wait!” Oswald blurts, too loud, as he makes a desperate grab for Ed’s wrist.

His expression is drawn, brow furrowed and lips curved down into a deep frown, looking as surly as Ed feels. Though, Ed suspects from the way his shoulders hunch slightly, Oswald’s frustration is directed inward, rather than at Ed himself. 

Ed allows himself to be tugged back into place, still eyeing Oswald warily.

“Forgive me, I’m…” Oswald begins, then trails off, staring off into the middle distance over Ed’s shoulder. 

He let’s go of Ed’s arm, clasping his hands together in his lap and wringing them slightly as he takes a steady breath. 

“I apologize. For being glib,” he says soberly, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth, “I’m just...anxious.” 

His gaze drops with the confession, head bowing slightly, as though ashamed. 

A beat passes in silence, and then Ed reaches up and chucks Oswald under the chin, forcing him to look at him once more.

"I'm nervous, too," he says, rubbing his thumb gently into the dimple of Oswald’s knee, his attempt at offering comfort. 

Oswald offers him a small, tentative smile in return. 

“In fact,” Ed goes on, placating in an attempt to keep his own spike of anxiety at bay, “you may have to talk me through this a bit. I’m...not exactly sure what I’m doing, I’m afraid.” 

"As though _I_ know!" Oswald splutters, throwing his hands up in the air.

He looks so outraged, his cheeks flushing bright crimson, that Ed can’t suppress the startled bark of laughter that escapes from his lips.

The sound only serves to make Oswald look more offended, which in turn makes Ed laugh harder, hiding his face against Oswald’s knee as he dissolves into giggles. 

“And what, pray tell, is so funny?!” Oswald demands, arms crossed, petulant and spoiling for a fight.

"We are," Ed says helplessly, gesturing between the pair of them, hoping to encompass the ridiculousness of the entire situation. 

There's a moment of deafening, echoing silence from Oswald, in which Ed feels certain one of his patent tantrums is imminent. 

But then a titter bubbles forth from his lips, the dam breaking before he’s bursting into laughter as well, doubling over as the pair of them fall into a shared bout of near hysterical giggles.

Oswald is still chuckling by the time Ed has calmed down enough to reach up and cup his jaw, stroking his fingers over Oswald’s cheekbone. He leans into Ed’s touch, finally falling silent. 

As they stare at each other for a long, quiet beat, something heavy and vulnerable settles once more along Oswald’s brow. He turns his eyes upwards towards the ceiling, letting out a soft sigh as he places his hand over the back of Ed’s, delicately holding it in place.

“I haven’t exactly...done this before,” he confesses to the ceiling tiles.

His face crumples a little with the admission, sharp lines gathering at the corner of his mouth. Ed leans up and catches his lips in a chaste, reassuring kiss, drawing Oswald’s attention back to him.

As he pulls back to speak, he presses their foreheads together, keeping his hand steady on Oswald’s cheek.

“Well, it’s not as if I exactly have any experience doing _this_ , either,” he points out, letting his hand trail down over the visible tent in Oswald’s trousers, making Oswald gasp sharply at the sudden brush of his hand.

“At least,” he amends, tilting his head in consideration, “not with a person.”

At Oswald's alarmed look, he rushes to clarify, feeling his face heat with a rush of prickling embarrassment.

"I may have utilized other implements to... _practice_ ,” he explains, the flush on his face holding steady. “In case it ever...came up.”

Self-consciousness seizes in his rib cage, making him hunch his shoulders slightly, the desire to curl in on himself strong. He _wants_ to steal his jaw and issue a warning, hard-voiced and unwavering, that if Oswald even _thinks_ of taunting him, he’s out the door.

But instead, words bubble from his lips seemingly of their own accord, his voice so small and quiet he almost doesn’t recognize it.

“ _Please_ don’t mock me,” Ed hears himself plead, wincing at the edge of desperation that overtakes his voice. 

It’s only once he feels Oswald’s fingers stroking gently over his brow that he realizes, in the heat of the moment, he had screwed his eyes shut.

Being this vulnerable with his best friend, his worst enemy, the man who had once sworn to end Ed’s life and yet still remains the most important person in his orbit has left him on tenterhooks in ways he hadn’t quite anticipated.

...then again, to be fair, he can only imagine how _Oswald_ must feel. 

When Ed finally blinks up at him, Oswald’s eyes have gone terribly soft, and the warmth in them makes something loosen in Ed’s chest, the tension releasing. 

“Why would I make fun of you?” Oswald asks, entwining his fingers in Ed's hair to massage the back of his scalp, Ed sighing at his touch. “That would be rather cruel of me after what I just confessed, don't you think? I think it’s...thoughtful.”

Ed snorts at that.

“What?!” Oswald demands, a smile playing around his lips as he raises a challenging eyebrow. “I do! It’s...considerate. Sweet, even. You’re certainly more prepared than I am. And it always pays to be prepared, right?”

He gives Ed a jovial tap on the shoulder, and one corner of Ed’s mouth quirks up in an amused half-smile.

"Right," he agrees, humoring him, but the shy look of gratitude he shoots Oswald is entirely sincere.

Then he leans forward and kisses him again, because he needs to, and the press of Oswald’s lips and the heat of his hand reaching up to trace Ed’s cheek feels grounding. 

As their lips part, Ed squats back on his haunches, squeezing Oswald’s thighs reassuringly as his palms settle on his legs once more.

“How about we just...figure it out together, hmm?” he asks, a hopeful lilt to his voice as he peers up at Oswald, idly smoothing his fingers over the sharp crease of Oswald’s pant leg. 

"Together," Oswald nods, looking relieved.

He gives the sharp line of Ed’s cheekbone one final, careful brush with the back of his knuckles.

“And thank you, Ed,” he adds as his fingers drop away from Ed’s face. 

At the confused furrow of Ed's eyebrows, he explains.

"I know it's...difficult, for you to admit when you're out of your depths. So, I appreciate you being honest. It means a great deal to me."

Ed turns his head and presses a kiss to the juncture between Oswald’s thumb and forefinger where his hand lays flat, palm down, on his thigh. Then he braces his hands on Oswald’s knees once more, parting them gently. 

"Just...let me know if at any point you want to stop," Ed requests, waiting for Oswald's nod before he continues.

"Ed," Oswald says, soft as he reaches out for Ed's chin to make him look at him.

"You, too."

Ed smiles and nods, and his own posture relaxes slightly, a tension he didn't know he was holding suddenly draining from his body.

He adjusts then, reassuming the position on his knees. As he settles between Oswald’s legs, Ed rubs his palms up both Oswald's thighs, rucking up his pant legs, massaging as he goes. He smiles when he hears Oswald’s breath hitch, a soft, keening sound reverberating low in his throat at Ed’s machinations. 

Then he reaches forward and takes the zipper of Oswald’s fly between his fingers, noting the way Oswald stiffens as soon as Ed brushes up against him. 

“Just...relax,” Ed coaxes, kneading Oswald’s thigh with one hand.

“Far easier said than done, I’m afraid,” Oswald swallows, voice fraying as Ed’s grip around his leg tightens, fingers digging into his flesh.

Ed offers him an impish grin in return, showing all his teeth.

“Just as long as it’s the _good_ kind of tension,” he says, purposefully deepening his voice as his fingers tease over the front of Oswald’s slacks.

Oswald’s breath shudders as Ed cups his hand, palming him through his pants, the gesture causing Oswald to jerk up into his touch. 

But there’s a tenseness that lingers around his shoulders, like he might turn tail and run at the slightest provocation. 

That just won’t do. 

“I come in a lot of different sizes,” Ed recites, hand still rubbing over the outline of Oswald’s erection. “Sometimes, I drip a little. Blowing me feels _very_ good. What am I?”

At Oswald’s look of utter bewilderment, Ed grins.

“Your nose,” he answers cheekily, leaning up just far enough to kiss the tip of Oswald’s. 

“Ed _ward_ ,” Oswald groans, his eyes rolling heavenward. 

But his posture finally slackens, a fondness he just can’t hide clinging to the corners of his mouth. The air around them lightens, which is all Ed needed anyway.

So he skims his fingers upward and unzips Oswald’s fly with one swift tug.

The fabric parts, revealing Oswald’s dark indigo briefs underneath, the bulge of his cock concealed beneath the silk unmistakable. 

Ed’s mouth goes dry at the sight, momentarily arrested. A shock of lust hits him like a freight train, running up his spine and making his whole body shudder. 

He would be lying if he said he hadn't envisioned being in this _exact_ position many, _many_ times in the last six months. Now that he's finally _gotten_ here, however, a wave of apprehension hits him, sharp and overpowering. 

Momentarily overwhelmed, Ed ducks his head, instinctively pressing his face against the inside of Oswald’s thigh. He inhales sharply through his nose, trying to catch his breath, the fabric of Oswald’s suit smooth where it brushes his cheek.

Above him, Ed can hear Oswald’s own breaths coming out somewhat labored, harsh. He reaches down and tentatively cards his fingers through Ed’s hair, a gentle, tender gesture. Ed’s grip on Oswald’s leg tightens in turn, clinging to him. 

“Now who needs to relax?” Oswald teases, voice deceptively even. 

When Ed peeks up at him with one eye, he finds nothing but gentleness and understanding in Oswald’s face. The smile he shoots him is self-conscious, but grateful.

“You don’t have to do this,” Oswald adds softly, soothing, still massaging Ed’s scalp, “if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, I _want_ to,” Ed replies, conviction in his voice. “Just...give me a moment. I’m a bit overwhelmed.”

“That makes two of us,” Oswald says, the edge of his mouth quirking in an amused half-smile. 

Ed takes a deep, steadying breath, grounding himself. The hazy desire and tentative thrill he sees in Oswald’s eyes animates him, makes his stomach flutter with want and his grin widen.

Adrenaline thrumming through his veins once more, Ed darts forward without warning and presses a kiss to Oswald through the fabric of his briefs, drawing a high, guttural sound from Oswald at the first brush of his lips. 

“Fuck!” Oswald keens, letting out a startled half-laugh, voice ragged.

Ed hums in agreement, his nose skimming over the indigo silk, luxurious and smooth, fit for a king. He breathes in, and the scent of Oswald, spicy cologne and sweat and skin, intensifies.

He trails hot, open-mouthed kisses up and down Oswald’s length, lips quirking when he feels Oswald’s hands skim up and down the nape of his neck, fingers finding his shirt collar and grasping onto it for purchase.

Oswald moans, low and strangled, as Ed laps at the outline of his erection through the silk, mouthing at him until the smooth dark fabric has grown damp and even darker under his attention.

Ed pulls back slightly, and Oswald gasps at the sudden loss of contact. His breath hitches as Ed’s hands dance across the slight sliver of exposed skin just above his waistline, fingers dipping inside his briefs. 

Then Ed slowly tugs down Oswald’s waistband, carefully lowering the material until his cock springs free.

Ed tilts his head to one side, considering.

It’s about average in size and length for American men, from what Ed has read and seen in the diagrams of his anatomy textbooks, but wider in girth, thick and pink where it curves up towards Oswald’s belly. Ed can’t help but catalogue it against the handful he’s seen throughout the years. 

His own, obviously. Several of the officers’ down at the GCPD, on the unfortunate occasions he’d stumbled in on them changing. On the morgue slab, a hazard in his line of work. The few he’d encountered in erotic films. 

Oswald’s is...alluring, he thinks, and the revelation gives him pause.

_Alluring_. 

Yes, he decides. It is.

He wants, sudden and pulsing, to know what it tastes like.

"Ed?" Oswald calls out, a hint of apprehension creeping into his tone.

Ed leans forward and sucks the head into his mouth. 

The sound Oswald lets out is choked as his hands tighten in Ed’s collar, the fabric pulling taut at his back. Ed hums contentedly, licking experimentally at the slit, noting the salty taste of Oswald’s skin. Rubbing almost reverently over the juncture where thigh meets hip, he slides his hands up to grab Oswald by the waist, Oswald shuddering as Ed pins him in place. 

Ed swirls his tongue around the tip of Oswald’s cock, lapping and flicking in various patterns, testing different methods, a series of trial and error. Though he has zero experience giving head and little more receiving, he tries to draw on the techniques he can recall enjoying being done to him, the handful of times it had happened. 

Oswald is a man who is rarely reluctant to demand exactly what he wants. Loud and larger than life, a dimension of his personality Ed finds at once grating and admirable in turns. 

But in this, there’s a shyness to him, as he tentatively rakes his hands up from Ed’s neck into his hair. A reticence to speak up Ed finds...curious, a sharp contrast to the ruthless, outspoken gangland kingpin Oswald presents himself as in everyday life. 

Vulnerable, in ways he hasn’t let Ed truly see in a very, very long time.

The sudden loss of his expressiveness means Ed has to try that much harder to determine just what is and isn’t working, but that’s a challenge he’s more than happy to rise to.

Because Oswald isn’t verbal, but he is _vocal_ , all shuddering, hitching moans and fluttering gasps.

So Ed mentally catalogues his responses, listening out for the shifts in his breathing, a barely audible _yes_ , a breathy sigh of Ed’s name. Twirls and twists his tongue just so when he gets the response he was looking for, keeping up the attention and repeating the motion again and again, carefully replicating the results. Considers every strangled groan and muffled cry a victory. Finds himself moaning in time.

Ed revels in it. Oswald’s sounds. His taste. The weight and feel of his cock, hot and heavy, against Ed’s tongue. 

It’s different, than what Ed had envisioned on those hot, sticky nights alone in his bed. Not hazy and glossy, swamped with the sheen of half-remembered fantasy. 

This is grounded and _real_ , and somehow so much _more_.

As Ed continues his lapping and sucking, dedicated to wringing every pleased whimper and whine he can from Oswald using nothing more than his mouth, he hears Oswald let out a sharp giggle, giddy and almost...delirious. 

Without so much as pausing, Ed catches Oswald’s gaze, sees the mirth shining in his light eyes, and lifts one eyebrow in silent inquiry, attempting to convey his question with the glint in his pupils and the slope of his brow alone. 

Picking up on Ed’s wordless cues, Oswald opens his mouth to speak.

“I-I was just thinking,” he pants, lips pursing slightly in private amusement despite his labored breathing, “after all this time, I’ve finally discovered the one thing that renders Edward Nygma speechless.”

Ed releases his cock with a pop, making Oswald whine and then squeak as he nips at his hipbone, a warning for his impertinence.

"Dangerous," he purrs, voice low, "to mock a man who has you in such a... _compromising_ position."

Oswald tugs at his hair, rough this time, some of that fire finally coming back to him after his unabashed ribbing.

"Who has _whom_ in a compromising position?" he asks, pinning Ed under his gaze, a challenging edge flaring in his tone. “I believe _you’re_ the one on your knees.”

“Yes,” Ed says, punctuating his point by ghosting his lips over the tip of Oswald’s cock, his grin sharp when Oswald sucks in a shaky breath, “but you’re at the mercy of _my_ mouth.”

Even saying the words sends a thrill down Ed’s spine, a heady rush going to his head at the power the position entails. 

“So why don’t you put it to good use?” Oswald retorts, not to be outdone. 

“Impatient, are we, Mr. Cobblepot?” Ed asks, pressing a light, teasing kiss to the head of his dick. 

Oswald’s eyes darken with lust. He reaches forward and cups Ed’s face, firm but gentle, between his hands. 

“‘Peace,’” he recites, his smile wicked, “‘I will stop your mouth.’”

Then he traces his cock over Ed’s lips, rubbing the head along the seam of his mouth. Ed can’t stop the choked gasp that bursts from his throat, head spinning at the sensation. 

“I don’t remember this part in any Shakespeare _I’ve_ ever seen,” he remarks, breathless, eyes wide and heart racing as the blood rushes under his skin.

“Maybe you just haven’t been going to the right performances,” Oswald quips without missing a beat, arching an eyebrow as he looks down at Ed, palm still heavy on his cheek.

“I suppose Shakespeare’s penchant for dick jokes _is_ somewhat relevant to the current circumstances,” Ed observes, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling, contemplative, as he tries to recover his faculties.

Oswald strokes his thumb over the corner of Ed’s mouth, drawing his gaze back to him before releasing his grip.

“Can we get back to the task at hand?” he asks with a sharp jerk of his chin, an air of impatience to his voice Ed sees right through.

He smirks.

“As you wish.”

Oswald’s breath hitches as soon as Ed gets his mouth around him, his fingers immediately coming up to thread through Ed’s hair. Ed hollows his cheeks, lips sealed tight to create suction, groaning as Oswald tugs on his now ruffled locks.

Then, as penance for Oswald’s earlier impropriety, Ed recites the first stanza of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18 around his dick.

Oswald cries out, nails scraping over Ed’s scalp, and Ed grins against his length, preening at the response his perfect recitation is inciting. 

As the muffled poem comes to a close on _And summer’s lease hath all too short a date_ , Ed drops his left hand from Oswald’s hipbone, fist balling at his side. He folds his thumb against his palm, squeezing it, an old trick he learned in college to help mitigate the natural gag reflex. Then he takes a steadying breath and slowly lowers himself further onto Oswald’s cock, rising to Oswald’s goading by trying to take him as deep in his throat as he possibly can without choking.

Ed tests his limits, inching until his nose is pressed to the hilt, buried in Oswald’s curls. As Ed’s mouth fully envelops him, Oswald whimpers his name like a plea, and the synapses at the center of Ed’s brain go off like fireworks, making his whole body shudder with pleasure. 

He rears back swiftly and then swallows Oswald down again, hand bunching in the fabric of Oswald’s trousers. Oswald’s back arches in time with the motion, his repetition of Ed’s name choked off in the middle. 

Ed sucks him for long moments, bobbing his head up and down over Oswald’s length, Oswald’s panting growing louder and more ragged each and every time Ed takes him in his mouth. 

He suspects his technique is clumsy, unrefined, but what he lacks in finesse he tries to make up for in enthusiasm. And there’s no small amount of enthusiasm on his part. 

If the noises Oswald is making are anything to go off of, he'd say he's managing _just_ fine thus far.

In a move that’s quickly becoming practiced, Ed swirls his tongue around the tip of Oswald’s dick, raising up slightly on his haunches. Then, he takes hold of his cock with one hand, gripping the base for leverage as he sinks back down onto it in a single, smooth motion.

"Edward," Oswald pants, again and again, just as he had in Ed’s fantasies, "Edward, Edward, Edward."

Ed’s body sings with each ring of his name, ragged and desperate in Oswald's mouth. It’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard, so potent and powerful he feels a wave of euphoria crash over him with every swelling note.

Emboldened, he scrapes his teeth delicately, carefully against Oswald’s skin, tracing over the side of his cock. At that barest brush, Oswald’s grip in his hair tightens instantly, the leverage yanking Ed forward slightly as Oswald bucks up into his mouth, a sudden cacophony of sensations so overwhelming Ed gags. 

Oswald releases him immediately, cock sliding from Ed’s mouth as he jerks backward. 

“Are you alright?!” Oswald asks, a flurry of movement as he leans forward to look into Ed’s eyes, his hands ringing slightly at his sides. 

Combined with the concerned look he shoots Ed, mouth tugged down into a ridiculously apologetic frown, Oswald looks so comically miserable that Ed can’t bite back the fond laugh that bubbles up in his throat. The laughter only serves to agitate his oversensitive throat, sending him into a light coughing fit that has Oswald gripping him by the shoulders, worry lines deepening across his brow. 

"No, no, I'm fine, I'm fine," Ed says, voice throaty as he waves Oswald off, wiping the tears roughly from his eyes with one hand. "I just wasn't expecting it, that's all."

Oswald gnaws at his lip, frown deepening to make him look somehow even more shame-faced than before. He’s in close enough range, Ed can’t resist ghosting his lips lightly over his skin, pecking his cheek in a chaste, reassuring kiss. When he pulls back, he finds Oswald’s lips have pursed, expression embarrassed in an entirely _different_ way than before.

“Really, I promise, I’m fine, Oswald. In fact, if anything,” he flashes him a sheepish grin, “I, um... _enjoyed_ that a tad more than I expected I would.”

He feels his own cheeks flush slightly as soon as the words have left his mouth, heat spilling down his neck to creep under his collar.

Oswald’s eyes meet his, expression hilariously shell-shocked at the confession, given he just had his cock in Ed’s mouth mere moments before.

“Well,” Oswald says, swelling up like a bird ruffling his feathers, a manufactured air of self-congratulatory smugness settling over his shoulders, “...good, then.”

Ed’s mouth quirks slightly, amused at his theatrics. 

"Good indeed."

Then he returns to the task at hand, head dipping down to mouth at Oswald once more. 

"Edward," Oswald exhales, sounding winded as he pulls on Ed's hair in warning, "Ed. Eddie, stop. Stop!"

Ed pulls off immediately, though he can't help the whine that escapes his throat as he peers up at Oswald, eyes hazy and inquisitive.

“What is it? Is something wrong?” he asks, a hint of apprehension seeping into his voice. 

"If you don't stop, I'm going to finish," Oswald says curtly.

Before Ed has the opportunity to demand how exactly that's a _bad_ thing, Oswald is grabbing him by the wrist and giving his arm an impatient jostle, urging him to join him on the bed.

Ed has no choice but to allow himself to be dragged up onto the mattress beside him. 

As Ed lands softly at his side, Oswald hooks his good leg over Ed’s hips, pushes him back down into the mattress, and straddles him, drawing a soft _oof_ from Ed’s lips that he captures with his mouth. Ed settles a hand on either side of Oswald’s waist, moaning as Oswald strokes his fingers over his cheekbones, into his hair, kissing him deeply, the hard press of his erection rubbing up against Ed’s making him stutter. 

The sheets, on the bare bit of Ed’s exposed skin they caress, are as silky as Oswald’s tie, his briefs, and Ed thinks he could get used to this, to all of this. The intoxicating feel of those 800-thread-count sheets, soft and smooth, against his skin. The weight of Oswald’s body, hot and solid, bearing down on him from above.

Ed slips his hands up under Oswald’s suit jacket, petting at his back before grabbing hold of Oswald’s dress shirt and untucking it from his loose slacks, still open with his cock hanging free. Then he works his fingers under Oswald’s waistband, sinking his hands into those silky briefs to cup the globes of Oswald’s ass and squeeze, his bare skin just as smooth and soft as Ed had speculated. A tantalizing tease that has Ed wanting _more_. 

"You know what's even better than a man in a beautiful, perfectly tailored suit?" Ed murmurs, rough and sultry as Oswald nips at the soft skin just below his chin. 

Oswald whines but pulls back slightly, blinking down at Ed with those sharp, expectant eyes. 

Ed cants his head and brushes his lips over the shell of Oswald’s ear, nibbling at his earlobe as he pets at his sides. 

“Taking it _off_ him,” he purrs, deliberately exhaling the words into Oswald’s ear, so that the trace of his breath makes Oswald shudder.

Then he drops back onto the pillows and grins up at Oswald smugly, showing off all his teeth. 

Oswald meets his gaze head on, a wicked glint in his eyes. He smiles, deliberate and dangerously slow, like honey dripping over Ed’s skin.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

The words have barely left his mouth before he reaches up and rips open the top buttons of Ed’s dress shirt with little to no ceremony, dark head dipping down to mouth eagerly at his exposed skin. 

Not to be outdone, Ed latches onto the end of Oswald’s tie and drags him into another brutal kiss, hands flying up to the long swoop of Oswald’s neck. Revelling in the sound of his strangled gasp, he utilizes their new vantage point to begin carefully but swiftly unlacing the fabric from his throat.

His finger catches briefly on Oswald’s golden tie pin, a glittering match for his cufflinks, the dark pearl smooth under Ed’s touch. Oswald had once ensnared him in a trap with little more than just such a piece of small, innocuous jewelry. 

Ed is fairly certain the memory shouldn’t send a thrill shooting down his spine, but it does. 

He makes quick work of the tie, yanking it free with a victorious tug. As Oswald paws impatiently at his shoulders, urging Ed to shuck his suit jacket, Ed can’t resist the impulse to draw the embroidered strip of silk across his own face, enjoying the slide of the smooth fabric against his skin before he tosses it casually over his shoulder. Visions of just how they might utilize such an implement in the future burst across the back of his eyelids.

Oswald, meanwhile, having divested Ed of both his jacket and tie, sets about sliding Ed’s suspenders, one-by-one, from his frame. As his fingers slip slowly, deliberately down Ed’s arm, Ed ducks his head to suck a love bite into his neck, canting his shoulder almostly coyly to aid Oswald in freeing him from the brace.

Now granted more access, Oswald spreads Ed’s shirt further open, bending his head to mouth at the prominent slash of Ed’s collarbones, sharp as blades. 

“Oswald,” Ed moans, delighted at the rough swipe of Oswald’s teeth catching against his clavicle, making him flush.

Ed rubs his hands up and down the rich plum sleeves of Oswald’s suit coat, caressing the lapels with his fingers, the material just as soft as he’d imagined. Coaxing Oswald out of it, Ed takes a moment to appreciate how enticing, even sans full three-piece with all the matching adornments, Oswald looks. His waistcoat highlights the strong, sturdy spread of his middle, Ed’s cooking having clearly helped start to thicken him up in all the right places.

As Oswald trails his mouth across Ed’s bare chest, Ed’s fingers grapple desperately, clumsily, at the fastens on first his coat then his button-down. Ed growls impatiently, eager to get at the skin underneath. By the time he’s worked through two layers only to find one final barricade in the form of Oswald’s thin, white undershirt, he can’t help but huff out a laugh. 

His chuckle is abruptly cut off when Oswald leans forward, takes Ed’s right nipple in his mouth, and sucks _hard_.

“Oh _my_!” Ed keens, drawing in a labored breath, hips bucking helplessly upward at the first hot press of Oswald’s mouth. 

“You like that, I take it?” Oswald murmurs, low and throaty, pulling back just far enough that his lips brush over Ed’s nipple with every word.

“V-very much so, yes!” Ed pants, breath hitching as his back arches up into Oswald’s touch. 

Oswald grins up at him, pleased smile going feral around the edges. Then he presses Ed down into the sheets, licking and lapping and nipping at the nub until it is pink and pebbled beneath his lips, so swollen and oversensitive every teasing caress of his mouth makes Ed flail uselessly against the mattress, fingers grasping desperately at the loose material of Oswald’s undershirt. 

After several long, blissful moments, Oswald turns his attentions to the other side, giving Ed’s neglected nipple the same treatment. He draws slow, agonizing circles around it with his tongue until Ed is gasping in strangled ecstasy, his thighs falling further apart as he rubs instinctively up into the warm heat of Oswald’s body. 

He can’t suppress his whimper when Oswald pulls back from his machinations, mouth straying lower, trailing over Ed’s rib cage in small, punchy kisses. As he sucks and bites at Ed’s skin, bruising it with his teeth, Oswald keens, a low, animalistic noise in the back of his throat.

Then, he’s kissing Ed _all over_. 

His chest, stomach, navel. The inside of his elbow. His fingertips, slowly, one by one. 

Oswald hungrily seeks out every inch of Ed he can get to, lips running reverently up and down Ed’s body like he can’t get enough of his bare skin. Like he can’t believe Ed is here, that he’s real. 

...Ed knows the feeling. 

He takes advantage of Oswald’s distracted concentration to hook one long leg around his hips, drawing a surprised gasp from Oswald as he flips him suddenly onto his back, rolling over to sit on his hips. Then he grabs the hem of Oswald’s undershirt and yanks at it impatiently, tugging Oswald into a upright position and, at _long_ last,peeling the garment off of him in one fluid motion. 

He sits back on his haunches, and Oswald lifts his hips, allowing Ed to make similar work of his still open slacks, dragging belt, trousers, and briefs down his legs altogether in a single, smooth slide. 

And then Oswald is finally, blissfully naked beneath him.

Ed pauses, taking a moment to admire Oswald in all his glory. 

He has seen Oswald naked before, on the brink of collapse and tucked away in Ed’s bed during their second first meeting. But it’s been a very, _very_ long time, and Ed intends to savor the sight, drinking his body in slowly. 

He traces his eyes over the smooth, flat planes of Oswald’s chest. The sharp, angled line of his legs. The pink curve of his cock, rapidly becoming familiar. Delights in the smattering of thin, black hair that peppers his chest, trailing down his abdomen and his dick, thickening over his thighs. 

Corrects his earlier observation, of Oswald being nude at long last, as his gaze catches on the dress socks and garters still wrapped firmly around Oswald’s legs. But he elects not to remove them, not yet, eyes roving down to study the strip of calf where the leather strap hugs so tightly as he chuckles to himself, low and soft and pleased. 

It’s different, Oswald so disparate from _anyone_ Ed has ever been with before. 

_Different_ , but so, so good.

Oswald blinks up at him, eyes pale and wide, a hesitancy clinging to his expression.

“Oswald, you look... _incredible_ ," he blurts, unable to stop himself. 

Oswald’s lips part at the words, cheeks reddening, seeming utterly flummoxed. There’s a weighty pause where they stare at each other, the room unnervingly still.

"So do you, Ed," Oswald finally murmurs, quietly, breathlessly, a tenderness shining in his eyes that makes Ed’s chest seize, his heart ache. "So do you.” 

Ed ducks down to press a kiss to the exposed jut of Oswald’s clavicle in reply, burying his face against it, breathing in his scent. The heady aroma of citrus, sage, and lavender tickles his nose as he nuzzles Oswald’s skin, bearing his weight down on top of him, their hips moving in tandem. 

Ed mirrors Oswald’s earlier movements, mouth wandering over his bare chest to follow the path of his freckles, tracing out constellations. He maps his torso, teasing briefly at his nipples as he goes, Oswald’s shuddering gasp in response making him grin. When he dips lower, tracing down to Oswald’s abdomen, his lips meet puckered skin, the jagged edge giving him pause. 

Ed pulls back to study the raised, discolored tissue carefully.

Oswald’s body is littered with scars, both so similar and so disparate from Ed’s own. 

But this one. This one, Ed recognizes instantly. Pink and rippled, the size of a perfect, round bullet wound.

Ed draws in a sharp breath, struggling to swallow around the sudden, burning lump lodged in the back of his throat.

In that moment, he wishes desperately that he could mutter the clanging chorus of regretsreverberating again and again inside his head. But when he purses his lips to speak, the words stick, and he finds he can’t form them. 

So, he does the only thing he can do. Ducks his head down and presses a soft kiss to the scar in silent apology.

He hears Oswald inhale shakily, his body trembling as Ed carefully tends to the spot, caressing it again and again with his lips.

“I’m sorry,” he finally exhales in a choked whisper, the dam breaking, peppering that jagged circle in kisses like a benediction, “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, Ed,” Oswald soothes, fingers groping at Ed’s hair, the nape of his neck, his bare back, as though searching for something to hang onto, “it’s okay. It’s alright.”

Oswald’s body is covered with scars. Scars that Ed healed. Scars he inflicted. Scars that have nothing to do with him at all.

He traces his mouth over all of them. A ritual reenactment. Revisiting Oswald’s history over every curved, cutting blemish. 

An attempt, however small, to alleviate some of the pain. 

Ed travels back up Oswald’s body with his lips, coming up to nuzzle at a familiar mar across his shoulder.

“Now, see, that one,” Oswald breaths out, voice still shaky, “that’s the one you patched up. The one you saved me from.” 

Ed catches Oswald’s pale, wet gaze as he mouths at it, hoping his care shines through in every nip and swipe as he lovingly lavishes the old wound with attention. 

“I’m glad,” he murmurs into Oswald’s skin, punctuating his words with one final peck. 

Then he moves up to capture Oswald’s lips with his own, the taste of salt mingling on their tongues.

“Thank you,” Oswald whispers, low, the sound of his voice almost lost in the space between their mouths.

Ed makes a desperate, gutted noise in answer, deepening the kiss as he grinds their hips together, creating friction. Then he places a hand in the center of Oswald’s chest, spreading him out beneath him as he leans up and presses a kiss to the fresh scarring around Oswald’s eye.

He retraces his steps with his lips, rubbing over every inch of naked flesh he can find, more teasing than actual kisses. His fingertips trail routes behind his mouth, just barely skimming over Oswald’s skin, memorizing every nook and cranny of his body by touch alone. 

Ed would pin him under glass, if he could. Study every hill and valley, hair follicle and freckle and flake of skin, under a microscope. Oswald Cobblepot, mounted and magnified, on full display for Ed’s endless perusal. 

But he supposes, for now he’ll just have to make due, take Oswald apart with nothing more than the rhythm building steadily between their bodies. 

Oswald returns his touch in kind, desperately seeking any inch of naked skin he can find, his touch bordering on reverent. They run their hands over each other deliberately, delicately, with a carefulness far beyond what either of them probably deserves. As if they’re afraid, with one wrong move, the other might disappear entirely. 

Intoxicated by the heat of Oswald’s body, the heady scent of his skin, the thrust of every sharp angle against him, Ed thinks he might come undone from sensory overload alone. And, from the steadily rising tenor of Oswald’s moans, he isn’t far behind him. 

When Ed brushes his fingers up and down Oswald’s ribcage, torturously feather-light, the sensation makes Oswald buck up into him with a choked groan. Wrenching himself upright, Oswald bites at Ed’s neck in warning. Ed chuckles, dark, deep, and rumbling in his chest, making Oswald shiver as he pinches his backside teasingly in return. 

“Oswald, Oswald, Oswald,” he clucks his tongue reproachfully, his fingers drifting down to tease around the head of Oswald’s cock. 

Oswald grunts against Ed’s Adam’s apple, rocking up into his touch.

“God, Ed, _please_ ,” he begs, and Ed beams down at him, his grin turning wicked. 

He obliges, abruptly taking Oswald in his fist. Alternating motions, he pumps Oswald’s dick, still slick from his mouth, idly in his hand a few times, the rhythm erratic as he grinds his own clothed cock down into Oswald’s hip. 

One hand clutching at the bed sheets, Oswald makes a strangled, animalistic sound and reaches between their bodies to fumble with the button of Ed’s trousers, snarling at the clumsiness of his own fingers as he shakily works them open.

“Take these damned things _off_ ,” he demands, stretching Ed’s waistband impatiently as he finally gets a hand down the front of his slacks.

The feel of his hand groping at the outline of Ed’s erection, even through the fabric of his briefs, makes Ed groan with relief. He lifts his hips, helping Oswald free him from his pants quickly, gangly legs kicking trousers and underwear off his ankles to send them tumbling over the edge of the bed.

Oswald rolls partially on top of him, the momentary victor in their constant game of one-upmanship.

But then he rubs their cocks together in a slow, deliberate slide, and, as Ed bites down on his own fist to keep from howling, he decides, for once, that _everyone_ is winning.

Ed spreads his thighs wider, moaning at the steady, rocking rhythm of Oswald’s dick against his. Oswald keeps up the motion, pressing their bodies close together, even as he leans over and fetches lube out of the bedside table. 

As he clutches the bottle in his hand, unscrewing the top, the corner of Ed’s mouth quirks up knowingly. 

“Was the infamous Penguin looking to get _laid_?” he gasps, covering his mouth with one hand in mock surprise, his coy smile curling into a smirk. 

“It always pays to be prepared,” Oswald echoes the earlier sentiment, making Ed’s breath hitch as he drips cold lube over the head of his cock. “But, no, as a matter of fact, I do pleasure myself from time to time. Everything isn’t always about _you_ , Edward.” 

“I find _that_ difficult to believe,” Ed drawls, the good-natured goading at Oswald’s _and_ his own expense meant to get a rise. 

“I would expect nothing less,” Oswald shoots back dryly, not bothering to look at him as he pours more of the viscous liquid into his hand.

“But did you?” 

Ed waits until Oswald glances up, eyes bright and curious, before he continues.

“Did you think of me,” he starts, voice deepening with lust at the prospect, “when you _pleasured_ yourself?”

Oswald gives him a tight-lipped half-smile, eyes crinkling at the corners, the way they always do mid-battle when he’s got a card up his sleeve and _knows_ it.

“Perhaps I did.”

At the first wrap of Oswald’s hand—warm and calloused and still so surprisingly _large_ —around his cock, Ed sees stars, his whole body jerking in tandem. As Oswald starts to stroke him with slow, meticulous concentration, Ed gasps and drives his hips upwards, fingers scrambling in the silken sheets, grappling for purchase.

“I did, too,” he confesses between ragged gasps, body flushing hot all over, “I imagined you, too.”

Oswald freezes, hand stilling mid-stroke. Ed lets out an involuntary whine of protest at the sudden lack of friction, and Oswald’s expression clears as he starts up the motion once more. His brow, however, remains furrowed, and his eyes glaze, the look in them suddenly faraway. 

“I...cannot believe you just admitted to that,” he confesses, blinking slowly, utterly thunderstruck. 

Ed catches his gaze, then glances down, panting, to where Oswald’s hand is wrapped firmly around his dick. He smirks, raising a single, sardonic eyebrow. 

“I think the jig is s-sort of up, don’t you?”

At that, Oswald lets out a spluttering burst of laughter, self-conscious and a little too high. 

“Yes,” he assents, bowing his head in agreement even as he continues to work Ed steadily in his hand, “I suppose it is.”

Ed lets the curve of his lips soften into something more sweet and understanding, then reaches into the space between their bodies. Getting his hand around Oswald once more, he grins when the jerk of his wrist has the same jaw-dropping effect on Oswald it had had on him, Oswald letting out a moan, long and low, in time with Ed’s first stroke. His hips stutter as Ed tightens his grip on his cock, giving a few uncoordinated jerks before he begins thrusting erratically into Ed’s touch. 

As he works Oswald with quick, steady pumps, Ed can’t help but note the differences between them again, the foreign-familiarity of a cock in his hand, thicker and not quite as long as his own. This time, at least, the mechanics are transferrable, a skill set he can draw from that’s basically the same, unlike his earlier _oral_ performance. Besides which, Oswald’s cock has become a lot less intimidatingly _unfamiliar_ in the meantime.

So Ed glides his palm up and down Oswald’s shaft, rubs his thumb over the head, teases at the slit. Touches Oswald the way he would himself, analyzing what works and adjusting accordingly. All the while Oswald strokes Ed’s erection in kind, their motions slowly synchronizing as an electric, buzzing rhythm grows rapidly between them.

Ed’s eyes lock with Oswald’s, the heat in his pale irises sending pleasant goosebumps up and down Ed’s skin. Then, Oswald’s gaze intensifies, growing piercing and hungry as a vindictive, pleased little spark lights up his pupils. He purses his lips, a simpering smile spreading like butter over his face. 

“What sorts of things did you picture?” he asks slowly, eyes flitting over Ed’s face to track every minute expression, twitch of lips and hitch of breath, as he drinks him in. “When you thought of me?” 

Then Oswald flicks his wrist in _just_ the right motion to make Ed release a choked off cry, his hips grinding upward.

“Did you imagine it was my hand?” he demands. “When you touched yourself?” 

His tone brims with all that fierceness and fire Ed so admires, the sound of it going straight to his cock. 

“Yes,” he gasps, back arching into Oswald’s firm grip, “sometimes. Or that it was _y-you_ my hand was around.” 

Oswald hums, seemingly satisfied as he loosens his grasp, tracing his fingers slowly, teasingly up the curve of Ed’s shaft. The loss of pressure makes Ed twitch impatiently.

“So did I,” he admits quietly, moaning when Ed squeezes him tighter at the words. 

“So you’re saying you _did_ think of me,” Ed preens, inordinately pleased at having his suspicions confirmed.

“You _know_ that I did,” Oswald scoffs, attempting to roll his eyes with his whole body.

The effect is ultimately ruined when Ed twists his wrist, causing Oswald to let out a choked groan, limbs quaking and chest flushing pink. 

“Say it,” Ed taunts, sing-song as his hand slips down to tug at Oswald’s testicles, massaging them lightly in his palm.

“Yes,” Oswald grits out between his teeth, keening low in his throat as he rubs himself against Ed, his own steady rhythm around Ed’s erection quickening. “I imagined it was you. Touching me.” 

“Like... _this_?” Ed teases, giving Oswald’s dick a rough jerk that has him pitching forward slightly, Ed setting him off-balance with a simple twist of his hand.

“Yes!” he cries out, half-confession, half-encouragement. “Yes, just like that! Just...just like that, _god_ , Ed.” 

His hips drive down with the words, Ed’s grip around him adjusting, tightening, his pace speeding up. 

“And did you have any _fantasies_?” Ed purrs, voice dipping low, not letting up on the unrelenting tempo of his hand.

“...yes,” Oswald hisses out in a hot burst of air, sounding pained, his eyes screwed tightly shut.

Something hot and dark and feral pulses in Ed’s stomach, the overwhelming thrill of having Oswald at his mercy, right where he wants him.

“And what were they?” he asks against Oswald’s neck, leaning up to nip at his pulse point as he rubs his thumb in a counterclockwise motion around the tip of Oswald’s cock.

Oswald grunts and his eyes pop open, flashing, dangerous. A clear reminder to never corner a wild thing, unless you’re fully prepared to be bitten. 

Ed considers himself _more_ than prepared. 

The stroke of Oswald’s palm, where he’s steadily working Ed’s dick, becomes rougher, the motion erratic in a way that has Ed shuddering, crying out against Oswald’s skin. 

“W-wouldn’t you like to know?” he taunts, flashing a wild smile, voice as steady as he can keep it with Ed’s teeth at his throat and his cock in Ed’s hand. 

In spite of the way Oswald has him tremoring, Ed finds himself undeterred. He stills his movements, his grip loosening. 

“That’s alright. I c—” he exhales shakily, heart pounding in his chest and breathing labored, “can wait. Give you time. To collect your _thoughts_.” 

Even as he struggles to push the words from his lips, he manages to inject them with a teasing lilt, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Oh god,” Oswald gasps with a pained, half-strangled laugh, driving his hips up into Ed’s palm desperately, “god, you are a _bastard_.”

Ed giggles too, pressing a kiss to Oswald’s jugular. He’s still inordinately pleased with himself when his laughter cuts off with a strangled cry, his back arching at the twist of Oswald’s hand and sharp press of his nails raking up the inside of his thigh.

“Tell me,” Ed huffs out, breathing harsh, as he bites at Oswald’s ear lobe, “ _please_.”

Oswald shivers at the plea, his own breath hitching. 

“God, yes, alright,” he gasps, throwing his head back, neck on display as Ed wraps a hand back around him in reward, “alright, _alright_!” 

“I,” he swallows hard, skin flushing as Ed begins skimming his palm slowly, ever so slowly, up his shaft, “I can’t tell you how many nights I-I’ve pictured your hands...right _there_ , or, or-or your mouth, god! Your mouth _around_ me, I—” 

He tips forward with a sharp intake of breath, their bodies parallel as Ed gives his balls a swift tug, Ed’s hand pumping up and down his length steadily, encouragingly, in time with his words. 

“Or-or _heard_ your voice—god, Ed! Countless times! Calling my...my...my _name_ as I...as I—” 

He cuts off then, biting down hard against Ed’s clavicle, nails digging into Ed’s side as he squeezes the head of his cock. Ed presses his cheek to Oswald’s temple before turning so his nose is skimming the soft, dark tufts of his hair.

“ _Oswald_ ,” he murmurs, deep and rumbling as Oswald’s black tresses tickle his skin, and he feels Oswald quake against him. “Oswald, _don’t stop_.”

“Fuck, Ed, I—” Oswald pants into the crook of his neck, and then he’s babbling into Ed’s collarbone, like the dam has finally broken, his reticence from earlier in the night over as the pressure breaks and the words come spilling out of him like a flood. “I—I envisioned it! My...my...myself on my knees! You on _your_ knees, like— _fuck_ , like tonight! A thousand times over!”

The rhythm of his hand over Ed’s erection is merciless, and Ed’s breath stutters against Oswald’s skin as he laps at his neck, fist closing over the head of Oswald’s dick before roughly twisting around the ridge. 

Even as he quivers against Ed, Oswald trudges valiantly on, goosebumps rising over his flesh as Ed scrapes his nails gently over every bump of his spine, caressing his back and his cock in tandem. 

“I wanted—” Oswald moans, thrusting up into Ed’s hand, “you to _fuck_ me o-o-over the submarine _blueprints_.”

“Oh _my_ ,” Ed keens, his own hips rocking steadily as he buries his face against Oswald’s throat. “ _Yes_! I...I wanted that _too_!” 

“Pictured tak—” Oswald cuts off, chest heaving when Ed’s pace around him picks up suddenly.

“Keep going,” Ed implores, squeezing his hand around the base of Oswald’s shaft, just this side of painful. “ _Oswald_.”

The roughness of his voice seems to reverberate through Oswald like a shot, kickstarting the steady sound of his words once more.

“ _Pictured taking you against my desk_!” Oswald gasps, words tripping over one another, all rushing out in a single breath. 

Ed moans, his grip on Oswald’s shoulder blade tightening as his bucking grows erratic, cock twitching at the image.

“ _Next_ time!” he growls automatically, a promise.

Oswald whines, eyes shining as he blinks rapidly down at Ed, and then he’s pulling Ed into a rough, messy kiss, all teeth and tongue. Ed reaches up to tangle his fingers in Oswald’s hair, tugging on the strands as he surrenders to the hot press of Oswald’s mouth, Oswald’s grip firm and rough around him. It’s blissful, balancing on a knife’s edge between pleasure and overstimulation, drifting every closer to the precipice.

By the time their lips part, their breathing has somehow become even _more_ labored, a series of synchronized gasps filling the room like a chaotic symphony. Oswald’s face is flushed, the dusky pink staining high on his cheeks making him all the more attractive.

“You still haven’t answered m—” Oswald lets out a high-pitched whine, the second part of his statement garbled as Ed slides his hand down to give his nipple a firm, deliberate tweak, “ _my_ question.”

Ed hums inquisitively, not bothering to look up from the sight of Oswald’s nipple stiffening between his fingertips, pinching it hard as he vigorously pumps Oswald with his hand. 

Oswald clasps Ed’s jaw in his palm, wrenching his chin upward to look at him just as he closes his fist around the head of Ed’s cock, his thumb sliding over the slit as Ed releases a strangled sound.

“What did _you_ fantasize about?” Oswald demands, harsh and authoritative.

The amount of control he must exert, to keep his voice from shaking, is mesmerizing. His gaze bores into Ed, penetrating as a blade, and goosebumps spread across Ed’s flesh, skin prickling all over. 

Ed huffs out through his nose, attempting to get ahold of himself. Then he lets a lazy smirk curl at the corners of his lips, grinding his hips upward just as he tugs Oswald’s nipple and dick simultaneously, a rough, quick jerk of both hands.

“Come, now, Os- _wald_ ,” Ed purrs, the effect somewhat ruined when he keens and his voice breaks, betraying him, “surely you thought of more than... _that_.”

Oswald’s eyes glitter, like the hard, glossy shine of his cufflinks, and then he’s reaching forward, wrenching Ed’s hand away to take them both firmly in his grasp. Ed lets out a deep, guttural moan at the feel of their erections pressed hot and tight together, his body bucking helplessly at the sure, slick slide of Oswald’s hand as he pumps them once, twice, three times in steady succession.

“Quid...pro...quo, Edward,” Oswald gasps out between pants, the pace of his strokes unrelenting as their hips rock together in a building, pulsing rhythm. 

“ _Oswald_!” Ed cries out, desperate, slinging an arm over his face to cover his expression, skin burning all over. 

Oswald reaches up with his free hand and takes Ed by the wrist. He entwines their fingers as he tugs Ed’s hand down, pinning it to his chest. 

Ed blinks up at him, enraptured, sucking in a shaky breath between his teeth. Nowhere left to hide.

Fair’s fair. Oswald had met his challenge head-on. Ed can do the same. 

“I can’t—” Ed whimpers as Oswald’s cock slides against his, the friction threatening to overwhelm him before he blurts out the next part on an exhale, “ _can’t stop thinking about your clothes_.”

“My _clothes_?!” Oswald lets out a sharp, startled laugh, caught somewhere between disbelieving and indignant.

“ _Yes_!” Ed grunts, pained, digging the fingertips of his unencumbered hand into Oswald’s side to ground him. “Your _tie_ over my eyes, or-or-or tying my hands behind my back as...as you _fuck_ me!”

The sound Oswald lets out can best be described as _choked_ , and Ed feels Oswald’s dick jerk against his. Then he twists his palm around their cocks in an upward swirl, making Ed cry out.

“And-and your _suits_ , Oswald!” Ed babbles, words bubbling up with a rapidity he can hardly stop. “Gah! Your _suits_. Like a s-s-second... _skin_! I..I just kept—kept imagining—”

He bites down on his tongue, back teeth clenching together with an audible clack.

“Imagining _what_?” Oswald prompts, pale eyes bright and expectant.

The movement of his hand slows to agonizingly careful strokes, the pressure lessening, the potential loss of all friction _imminent_. Ed writhes beneath him, barely managing to bite off the howl of frustration that threatens to issue from this throat.

“ _Ripping_ them off you,” he snarls, the rest of his words coming out clipped as he forces his voice to stay even. “Bending you over. Spreading your cheeks. _Licking_ you open.” 

Ed reaches behind Oswald with his free hand, groping one cheek roughly, as though in demonstration. Oswald’s eyes flutter shut briefly. He swallows hard, a shudder running through his entire body that, pressed as close together as they are, Ed feels reverberate in his own. 

He blinks open slowly, dark eyelashes batting like butterfly wings as his hold on them both tightens once more, iron-clad.

“My, my, my, Ed. That’s…” he starts, voice ragged and cracking in the middle, “ _quite_ the picture.”

Ed runs his fingers up the cleft of Oswald’s ass then, quick and teasing, and Oswald mewls and convulses against him, rubbing their cocks together in an unsteady thrust. 

“Too many... _layers_ ,” Ed grumbles, practically pouting as his touch turns possessive against Oswald’s bare skin. “ _Hateful_.”

“Y-ou’re one to... _talk_ ,” Oswald quips back, the jibe undercut by his own heavy breathing. 

Then his eyes crinkle around the corners, and any pithy remark Ed might have had in turn is cut off by a moan when Oswald rubs his stockinged legs carefully, deliberately against Ed’s own. 

“Tease!” Ed accuses, his hand flapping uselessly under Oswald’s own.

The close-mouthed grin Oswald shoots him is devilish and fond, pale eyes bright. 

“What _else_?” he murmurs, throaty, as he bends forward slightly to bite encouraging kisses into Ed’s skin. 

“B-being on my knees. For you,” Ed moans, back arching as Oswald works them steadily in his fist. “Sucking your... _cock_.” 

“And what a... _f-fine_ job you did,” Oswald praises, stroking Ed’s knuckles and their dicks in tandem, and Ed feels a rumbling satisfaction settle deep in his chest.

“Or...or t-thrusting into _your_ mouth,” he goads, teeth flashing as he gives Oswald’s backside a rough pinch. 

“That...” Oswald swallows, smile shark-like as the rocking of his and Ed’s hips picks up simultaneously, “can be... _arranged_.”

Ed finally manages to wrench his hand free from Oswald’s grasp, caressing his fingers eagerly over Oswald’s bare chest as he continues to knead Oswald’s ass in his hand. Oswald rears back slightly, letting out a grunt of pleasure at Ed’s sudden, desperate touch.

“ _More_ ,” he pants, more plea than command. “Ed, t-t-tell me. _More_.” 

“F-f-for _months_ ,” Ed moans in answer, chest heaving as he writhes under Oswald’s touch, thrusting his cock harder against Oswald’s. “ _You_. With your hair—and your _lips_ and...and...and your _hands_. _Touching_ me! Driving me _mad._ I—oh _dear_ , Oswald!”

Ed cries out as Oswald rolls one of his balls in his free hand, the friction of his length steady against Ed’s as he keeps up the relentless pace of his strokes. 

“How—how long?” Oswald keens, letting out a high, guttural sound in the back of his throat as he grinds against Ed. “Since...the _sub_?”

“No!” Ed shouts, barking out a strangled, delirious laugh as he bucks his hips, fingers digging harder into Oswald’s flesh. “No—oh _my_ —no! L-long before _that_!”

“ _When_?!” Oswald begs, ragged, grip bordering on painful where his hand clamps down hard around the base of both their cocks.

“Since—” Ed whines, hips thrashing desperately, prompting Oswald to resume his steady pumping, “you—were— _m-mayor_! At _least_!”

At that, Oswald moans, wet and startled. Then he’s crushing their mouths together once more, murmuring whispers of gratitude against Ed’s lips, so soft Ed can scarcely make them out as he kisses Oswald heatedly in return. 

Then all talk falls away as they dissolve into a litany of gasps and groans and half-articulated praises. 

It builds and builds and builds from there, Oswald’s hand moving frantically over their erections, pressed hot and tight together, as their bodies rise in tandem toward that final crescendo. 

Suddenly and without warning, Oswald reaches back to tease at Ed’s perineum, fingers driving up into the space to massage at it with a firm, circular motion. 

"Yes, yes—oh _my_ —Oswald!" Ed mewls, high and harsh, pitching forward as his entire body is wracked with sudden, forceful shudders. 

He digs his fingernails into Oswald’s back, holding on for dear life as pleasure, white hot and bright, courses through his body with all the thrumming force of an electric current. 

It takes only a few more careful strokes of Oswald’s fingers before Ed’s coming with a shout, his toes curling as the force of it lights up every inch of his skin, Oswald following not far behind. 

As he rides out the final throes of his orgasm, Ed forces his eyes open, determined to watch as Oswald finally succumbs as well. He takes it all in. Oswald’s ruddy skin, burning crimson. His eyes, wide and glassy. His body rolling and writhing as release washes over him, a disjointed poetry to the way he trembles with the strength of it. The sound of his voice, a rough, ragged melody, as he gasps out Ed’s name. 

Ed drinks in the sight of him, his own limbs loose and limp as the last tremors of ecstasy spasm through his body, and he can’t shake the thought that repeats, over and over in his mind, as he watches Oswald come undone at long last. 

_Beautiful_. _He’s beautiful_.

With one final cry, Oswald collapses onto his side on the bed, chest still heaving. Ed can’t help but let out a whoop of delighted laughter as they lay flat on their backs, side-by-side, basking in the afterglow. 

He reaches for the box of tissues on the nightstand, still grinning from the rush of adrenaline and endorphins as he pulls out enough to clean up himself and Oswald. Oswald blinks sleepily over at him with one eye, maneuvering so he’s _almost_ tucked up against Ed’s side, close but not _too_ close.

“I’m afraid,” he observes slowly, a sardonic edge in his voice, “we’re going to be late.”

Ed turns to face him and closes the gap, inching across the small valley Oswald had created so that their bodies are pressed together, snuggling.

“Only fashionably so,” he counters, unable to reign in the giddy smile that threatens to break across his face.

“Well, just so long as it’s _fashionable_ ,” Oswald teases, his nose wrinkling with a spike of self-deprecating humor.

“With the two of us? Nothing less,” Ed ribs in kind, pressing a quick kiss to Oswald’s temple that has Oswald sighing and sinking further into the mattress, his posture fully relaxing at long last. 

“Although,” he adds, contemplative, lips still pressed up against Oswald’s hair line, “I have a feeling we might have a difficult time making it to _any_ such future engagements on time, with you dressing the way you do."

"My darling—” Oswald starts then stills with a sudden flush, looking startled that the endearment had slipped from his lips. 

Ed’s smile blooms into a Cheshire grin, a sparkle in his eyes as he lets his mouth wander down to steal a kiss from the corner of Oswald’s lips. The gentle brush seems to kickstart Oswald again, his expression clearing, eyes sharp and surprised and almost...hopeful as he catches Ed’s gaze again.

“My darling,” he repeats, firmer this time, making Ed grin harder as he waves a coy, all too knowing hand through the air, “we’ll have a hard time making it _anywhere_ if that’s all it takes.” 

“You’ll get no argument from me,” Ed agrees, low and lust-addled, Oswald’s cheeks reddening still as Ed pins him under his smoldering gaze.

“Should we...talk about this?” Oswald asks, voice high and catching in the middle, his expression transforming from knowing to shy in a matter of milliseconds.

Ed leans up onto his elbows, cupping his chin in one hand as he peers down at Oswald.

"We can. Later," he adds.

There would be time for all of that later. Ed so desperately _wanted_ there to _be_ a later. 

“Though,” he continues, canting his head to one side in consideration, “I have to admit, I'm not sure how much more there'll be left to say other than, 'Well, this was a long time coming.'"

Oswald scoffs, rolling his eyes heavenward like he can’t believe Ed. But, Ed catches the corners of his mouth twitching upwards as he bites down on his lower lip, a clear sign he’s trying desperately to suppress his own smile. 

He surprises Ed then by leaning up to capture his lips in a soft, heated kiss, and Ed wonders momentarily if he’s attempting to hide his growing grin against Ed’s skin. Ed will take it, whatever the reasoning, sliding his hand up to cup Oswald’s cheek and give back as good as he gets.

Several long moments pass, the pair lost in the press of each other, before Ed snorts suddenly into Oswald’s mouth.

"What?" Oswald demands crossly, looking hazy and lust-addled as he pulls back long enough to shoot Ed a bewildered look. 

"' _Coming_ ,'" Ed repeats, eyes shining with mirth as he giggles again.

Oswald groans in response, giving Ed’s shoulder a light shove as he presses an arm dramatically over his eyes, as though the very thought of looking at Ed in that moment is unbearable.

“Really, Edward? Post-sex _puns_?” he huffs, jabbing Ed in the chest as he half-collapses against him, like the strain of Ed’s words alone has exhausted him. “You’re lucky I don’t shove you out of this bed.” 

"Better get used to it," Ed murmurs, nosing at his cheek contritely, "I’m afraid you might be stuck with me."

Oswald freezes where he’s sprawled against him. He blinks up at Ed slowly, eyes piercing and expression wary, as though searching for the truth of his words. Then, his pursed lips slacken suddenly, features softening. 

“I do so hope so,” he confesses cautiously, smoothing his fingers over the sharp line of Ed’s brow. 

Ed traces his mouth over the freckles on the bridge of Oswald’s nose, visible where his foundation has smeared off, peppering them with tender, punchy kisses. Oswald’s face scrunches up in astonishment, little creases popping up around his nose, his cheeks, the corner of his mouth, but he says nothing, allowing Ed to dote upon him as his eyes grow increasingly glassy. 

When Ed finally finishes his demonstration and dips down to press a kiss to Oswald’s lips, he tactfully doesn’t mention the tear tracks trailing down his cheeks. Then, Ed surprises _himself_ by tucking his head under Oswald’s chin, curling up with his ear pressed to listen to the steady beat of Oswald’s heart. Oswald lets out a startled little noise of disbelief low in his chest, but then he wraps an arm around Ed’s shoulders, drawing a satisfied rumble out of Ed when he swipes his fingernails gently over the base of his spine.

They lay there for several moments of contented, sated silence.

Finally, Oswald breaks it, gently clearing his throat.

“Fetch me my jacket, would you?” he asks, the words soft and slightly gravelly, choked with an emotion Ed can’t place.

Ed retrieves it without hesitation, rolling over to the dishevelled heap of Oswald’s clothes still perched at the edge of the bed and fishing out the glittering plum garment.

He hands the coat to Oswald and watches as he fishes his packet of cigarettes out of the inside pocket, producing a lighter from his bedside table and lighting up immediately. 

The sight of Oswald, propped up against the headboard looking ravished, hair dishevelled and skin sex-flushed as he blows clouds of smoke into the air, is utterly seductive, making Ed’s face heat, his cock twitch half-heartedly with want in spite of how recently he just came. 

“Did you mean it?” Oswald asks quietly, cigarette pinched between his fingers, drawing Ed from his unabashed ogling.

"Hmm?" Ed hums, peering up at Oswald from where he had smashed his face into the pillow, forehead crinkling as he squints blearily with one eye. 

“Since your days as my chief of staff, Eddie?” he demands, half-accusation, half-skepticism as Ed stills at his side. “Really?”

“...Probably even before that,” Ed confesses, feeling suitably chastened.

Oswald stares blankly ahead, twirling the rolled tobacco idly between his fingers.

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" he asks finally, voice strained and trembling.

"Why didn't _you_?" Ed shoots back on instinct, the question he’s turned over again and again, haunting the back of his mind all these years between Oswald’s forced confession and now. 

Oswald lets out a long, heavy sigh, his whole body drooping as his eyes pinch closed, a pained wince. 

“Please don’t make me answer that.”

The agony in his voice is enough to get Ed to drop the subject. At least for now.

“Fair enough,” he nods, feeling a ripple of shame course through his body as he continues. “I’m not as...quick on the emotional front as you are, Oswald. It took me a while to put all the pieces together. And then, after everything, it was...too much. To try and reconcile.”

"You said you could never love someone like me."

The accusation hangs, suspended, in the air between them.

The smell of burning in the room feels fitting, the brittleness of Oswald’s voice echoing like the sound of a body dropping into the harbor. Ed can feel it, the heavy sinking in his stomach, cold and leaden as icy tendrils shoot down his spine.

“I thought I never could,” Ed agrees.

He looks up to Oswald’s haunted expression, pinned into place with the cigarette dangling limply from his lips, filter still clamped hard between his teeth. Ed reaches over and traces his fingers delicately over Oswald’s hairline, down to the edge of his cheekbone, over the crease of his lips. His words, when they come, are somber, his voice rough. 

“But I was wrong.”

It’s as much as Ed is willing to say, for now. He hopes, desperately, that it’s enough.

The gasp that bursts from Oswald’s lips is soft and broken, his body hitching in time with his sharp intake of breath as he melts, however slowly, into Ed’s touch. The way he wilts, his defensive stance falling away, Ed thinks, just _maybe_ , that it is. 

Oswald clears his throat lightly, readjusting his posture against the headboard, a transparent attempt to regain his footing. His own slight wince undermines the effort, and Ed’s eyes follow him as he reaches down to rub idly at his right knee. 

Ed leans over wordlessly, lining his fingers up with each dimple as he begins carefully kneading the joint. As he dutifully massages the tender injury, Oswald watches him, lips parted slightly in awe.

Several long moments pass as Ed works his fingers into Oswald’s flesh, Oswald moaning slightly as he makes his way up and down his leg, the stiff muscles loosening slowly. Finally, Ed’s touch stills, and he sits back, settling at the head of the bed by Oswald’s side once more. The silence cloaked around them now is heady, and warm. 

“You know, that’s twice you’ve admitted to being out of your depth today,” Oswald observes, still looking mildly shell-shocked even as he simpers and shoots a coy look Ed’s way, like the cat that’s managed to corner the canary.

Ed smirks, straightening his own shoulders, more than happy to rise to the challenge. 

"I wouldn't get too used to it,” he replies, low and sultry, leaning forward to ghost his breath over Oswald’s cheek, “I don't intend to make a habit of it."

"I'll try to savor it while it lasts, then," Oswald says wryly, rolling his eyes upward with a faux sort of wistfulness as he puffs gray, misty rings toward the ceiling. 

“Let me?” Ed asks, leaning forward into Oswald’s space as he holds out two fingers in request.

Oswald extends the cigarette wordlessly, and Ed plucks it carefully from between his thumb and forefinger, bringing it up to his lips to take a long drag. He coughs a little at the first hit, raising a fist up to his mouth to cover it, and he finds Oswald gazing at him steadily, his sharp look softening into something begrudgingly charmed. 

Ed takes a final pull before handing it back to Oswald, tracking Oswald’s movements as he puckers his lips and inhales with the ease of long practice. 

“And you?” Ed finally asks, voice rough, the slight burning sensation continuing to cling to the back of his throat.

Oswald’s brow furrows, visibly wading through their prior conversation before comprehension finally dawns.

When he speaks, it's with an even, bracing conviction Ed envies to his very core.

“My feelings, when it comes to you, remain unchanged.”

Something warm and bright unfurls in Ed's chest at the confession, however gritted. The taut thread in his chest unspooling at long last.

“I’m...relieved to hear it,” he says softly, gently placing his palm flat against Oswald’s neck, just over the steady thumping of his pulse. 

Then he leans forward and kisses the lingering taste of tobacco off Oswald’s lips.

When Ed pulls back, he finds Oswald blinking up at him slowly, eyes bleary and half-lidded. 

The moment lingers overlong, their eyes locked on each other, gaze searing. Then, Oswald clears his throat and ducks his head again, shying away from the raw honesty of his words and Ed’s steady, heated stare. 

His eyeline catches on his dishevelled pile of clothes strewn at the edge of the bed, Ed’s not far beyond spilled out onto the floor, satin fabric wrinkled and buttons shed.

Oswald tuts, putting his cigarette out in the ashtray on his bedside table.

"We have absolutely _ruined_ our attire for this evening," he observes, put upon as he nods for Ed to turn his head, take in the mess that is their beautiful, perfectly tailored suits.

Ed feels the edges of his mouth curling up into a smug smile. 

“Yes,” he agrees, giving Oswald’s collarbones a suggestive little nibble, “but what a way to go.”

He suspects the look Oswald levels at him is meant to be sardonic, but the lingering smile ruins the effect.

"I'll kidnap the tailor, have him make you another, even grander than before,” Ed promises in the face of Oswald’s silence, continuing to suck love bites into the pale skin of his neck, determinedly creating a pattern. 

Oswald shakes his head with a chuckle that can only be described as _fond_ , and when Ed chances a peek up at him he finds Oswald’s face lit up with such a satisfied, close-mouthed smirk that he has to hide in the crook of Oswald’s neck to conceal his own pleased flush. 

“Well, in the meantime,” Oswald says, the traces of a light laugh lingering in his voice as he presses a kiss to Ed’s hairline, “we’d better go and get ready. _Again_.”

“Mmm,” Ed hums, tilting his head to steal one final kiss from Oswald’s lips.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Oswald admonishes, pushing Ed backwards with one sharp finger to his chest before wagging it at him, eyes closed and smirk lingering as he pulls back from the kiss, “don’t distract me again.”

“Oh!” Ed squawks in outrage. “ _I_ distracted _you_? _I_ was the one who distracted _you_? I believe you’ll find—”

“Shh,” Oswald cuts him off by covering Ed’s mouth with his hand, the gesture making Ed’s jaw snap closed and his eyes widen slightly. 

His free hand dips down into the small of Ed’s back, arm curling around Ed’s waist to usher him off the bed.

“Now go,” Oswald instructs, waving Ed out of the room, “make yourself presentable. We have a big night ahead of us. Business waits for no man, after all.”

With that, he gives Ed a quick pat on the bottom as he sends him on his way, a move that has Ed letting out a surprised but not at all displeased little _oh!_ in response. 

In the doorway, Ed spins to look at Oswald, never content to let him have the last word. 

“Whatever you say,” he sighs, faux put-upon as he lays a hand flat against his chest, “... _dear_.”

Then he shoots Oswald a wink, grinning as he splutters, flustered, his cheeks turning rosy. Ed blows him one final kiss before turning on his heel and trotting out the door, leaving Oswald still gobsmacked and blushing in his wake. 

As he makes his way back to his room, there’s an undeniable extra spring in his step. Ed feels a flutter of pleasure as he pictures the many, _many_ more evenings just like this one he hopes are yet to come. 

**Author's Note:**

> My first posted smut is complete! As always, any and all comments, kudos, and keyboard smashes are welcomed and greatly appreciated!! I always love getting to hear what you guys think. <3


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